Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“C’mon Bulkhead! It’s gonna be awesome!”

“I dunno Bumblebee, remember what I was like last time I tried this ninja stuff?”

“Pfff yea but this time we’re both doing it, and Prowl is a lousy teacher. I’ll figure out the moves, and then I can practice them on you so you get the idea, you’re too big for me to do any major damage to anyway. It’s a win/win situation!”

Bulkhead let air out through his intakes in a sigh.

“Why can’t I ever remember why I should say no when you ask me to do this kinda stuff?” Bulkhead replied, lumbering over to the big screen TV where Bumblebee stood, beaming at him with eager optics.

“You’ll thank me later when you start kicking Decepticreep skid plate with super effective ninja moves and shock the electrodes outta Prowl.”

Bumblebee had paused the recording he had been playing on the TV, and Bulkhead took a moment to study the freeze-frame. Jazz stood to the right of the screen, halfway through a turn to face the black and gold blur that was frozen in motion just behind the white ‘bot, having snuck up to execute a neck cable off lining blow.

“Ok Bulkhead, you just stand right there and listen out for me. If I do this right, you shouldn’t have a clue that I’m even there until it’s too late” Bumblebee said with confident anticipation.

“Uuuuh, but you’re not actually gonna do the hit right? You’re just gonna sneak up on me…” Bulkhead stated, as though making it sound like a fact rather than a question would deter the little yellow mech.

Bumblebee heaved a sigh, “If I don’t practice the actual move Bulkhead, then what’s the point in practicing this at all?”

Bulkhead gave him a disparaging look but the smaller ‘bot grinned back widely, “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on ya big guy, I probably wont hit the right spot the first time. And besides, if you even hear a squeak from my treads, you spin around anyway. This is gonna be way more fun than if Prowl were trying to teach us, don’t sweat it buddy.”

Bulkhead tried to take comfort in Bumblebee’s entirely confident demeanour, but knowing the knack his small friend had for getting them into massive trouble even with the most convincing of foolhardy plans, he knew deep in his processor he was going to regret this for some reason or other.

Bulkhead stood stock still, straining his audio receptors for the slightest indication that Bumblebee was sneaking up behind him ninja style like Prowl had done to Jazz in the recording.

On the one hand, Bulkhead knew Bumblebee was one of the least stealthy bots in the crew, so him being able to sneak up on him was usually not a great concern of Bulkhead’s. But on the other hand, he had somehow managed to record Prowl’s training session with Jazz without getting caught by either of the skilled Ninja-bots. This either meant neither of them had cared, or Bumblebee had somehow gotten much better at playing the spy.

Bulkhead was so distracted by his nervous musings that he didn’t even turn when a sound finally reached his processors, and by then it was too late because the sound was of the leaping hydraulics of a ‘bot jumping on him from behind.

Bulkhead heard a ‘Heeeyah!’ and felt something tap his left neck cables, and then a voice cried ‘OOOwowowowo slaggit!’ loudly in his audio.

Bulkhead turned around as Bumblebee fell to his aft on the floor with a clank, cradling his servo and screwing up his faceplate.

Bulkhead very nearly laughed, but held back so as not to damage his small friend’s ego any further.

“Amateur. You aimed far too high.” Came a cool, obviously amused voice as Prowl walked in like he’d been sitting watching the whole time. Bumblebee yelped and looked up at the ninja-bot sheepishly.

Prowl paused and looked him over imperiously, glancing at the TV with the slightest hint of amusement and annoyance on his face. “You know you could just ask if you wanted to sit in on our sparring matches.” He said icily, looking back down at Bumblebee with his unreadable visor.

Bumblebee scowled “Gee, thanks Prowl. But I kinda prefer this way, I get less lecturing and more actual experience.” Bumblebee replied acidly.

Prowl frowned. “Bumblebee, how many times do I have to explain, if you don’t understand the theory then the moves won’t work, and you’ll just keep hurting yourself trying. Amusing as that is-”

“Why don’t you just teach us the USEFUL stuff Prowl, I mean come on! Meditation? Stillness? How does any of that help to kick Decepticon skid plate? I never see you knock out Blitzwing by meditating at him! Although he might fritz from the boredom…” Bumblebee snickered, and this time Bulkhead couldn’t help but join him. It wasn’t that he wanted to annoy Prowl or felt the same need Bumblebee did to frag him off, but he had to agree Prowl’s teaching and methods always went over his cranial unit.

Prowl snarled softly. “I cannot teach someone who refuses to learn. Until you realise the importance of self control and how it effects your fighting, I cannot hope to teach you anything.”

“Aaaaaw come ooooon, just ONE circuit-su servo slice! Pleeease, you don’t want me going up against ‘Cons without being able to do some damage do ya?” Bumblebee pleaded in what he thought was an endearing tone. Prowl apparently thought he was being sarcastic, and turned on his heel, throwing back a resounding ‘NO’ as he left.

Bumblebee got back on his feet and crossed his arms, scowling at the retreating form of the black and gold mech, scowling. “Tch, fine, don’t need you to teach us anyway. Can’t be THAT fraggin’ hard!”

Bumblebee turned back to his large green friend. “Ok, well it’s your go. Try to sneak up on me, and don’t go easy on me now will you?”

Bulkhead shifted uneasily on his stabilisers. “Aw but I don’t wanna hurt ya lil’ buddy… maybe if I just sneak up and tap you on the neck?”

“Buuuulkheeeead! You’ll never learn anything if you don’t do it properly during the practice! Trust me, I’ll be fine, you know I can take it! That is, if YOU can sneak up on me!”

With another intake and a vented sigh, Bulkhead moved to the other side of the room and Bumblebee’s grin widened. “Ok, when I turn around, go for it!”

A few cycles later, they quit and went for recharge. Bulkhead never had managed to sneak up on Bumblebee far enough to actually try his hand at the off lining neck hit. And he knew Bumblebee was playing fair, but he just couldn‘t keep his motors silent, he wasn‘t built for stealth and it was painfully obvious to him. However, no matter how many times Bumblebee successfully got the drop on Bulkhead, he could never hit whatever part of Bulkhead’s neck he was supposed to. Although Bulkhead thought he was starting to feel more ticklish in his neck cables, he had never felt even close to off lining, much to his friend’s frustration. But Bulkhead knew Bee’s irritation was with his inability to succeed at this move rather than at him personally. He was still glad to get away from his fragged off little friend by the end of their ‘sparring match’.

By the next day, Bumblebee seemed less irate and once again confidently enthusiastic.  Bulkhead was glad he didn’t ask him to go another round of ‘teach yourself ninja moves even when the real ninja disapproves’, however, he had taken it upon himself to continue with his self-training antics.

“What in the name of the Allspark are you doing, kid?” Ratchet stated gruffly as he turned his head a little to catch Bee sneaking up behind him in his peripheral. Bee froze mid creep and sighed, shoulders slumping. He walked away muttering something like ‘nothing… just practice…”

“Practice fer what, the annoying Olympics?” Ratchet grumbled with a self appreciative chuckle at his own joke. He had turned back to the part he’d been scanning for defects on the rec room table, but he knew Bumblebee was glaring at him as he stalked away. “Young bots…” Ratchet muttered with a small smile and squeaky shake of his head.

Ratchet was not the only one to notice and absently dismiss Bumblebee’s strange antics as the day wore on. Whenever Bumblebee wasn’t on duty, the others had caught him trying to creep up silently behind them.

“Was there something you wanted, Bumblebee?” Asked Optimus Prime as he turned to face the small yellow mech, who to his slight surprise had been much closer to his back than he had thought. Bumblebee immediately stood to attention and tried to look innocent…. Tried and didn’t all together fail. Optimus gave him an enquiring look. Bumblebee gave a nervous smile back. “Nope, nothing Boss bot.”

Optimus’ optics narrowed slightly. “You do know if you’re thinking of pulling some kind of prank that you’ll end up with a double shift cleaning Ratchets medbay while Ratchet over-sees, don’t you.” It was a statement rather than a question, but the slightly shocked and quite a lot more nervous look that came into Bumblebee’s optics reassured Prime that the small scout would seriously reconsider any devious plans he may have had.

“Uh, yea… yea I know. Well, I’ll just be going…” And with that the little yellow mech scarpered.

Bulkhead, Ratchet and Optimus noted no more sneakings up behind them of a certain yellow sub-compact for the rest of the week. However, Bumblebee seemed more conspicuous by his absence than was normal for the loudest little crew member.

The others had assumed, when they didn’t catch Bumblebee sneaking around them, that he had stopped.

But Prowl knew better.

He silently watched from a high rafter of the rec-room where he had been meditating to assist his balance, as a small yellow mech entered the room in complete silence.

At first Prowl had been concerned. Bumblebee was NEVER  that quiet unless something was very wrong… but just as Prowl was about to jump down from his high perch to confront his little team mate and gauge what exactly could be wrong with him, the smaller mech stopped, standing stock still, as his eyes fell on the medic who sat on the couch, still fixing various parts strewn out before him on the small low table in front of the TV, which was off.

The only sound in the room came from Ratchet. The soft clink of metal on metal and all the little singing noises of his tools working away at the surface of the damaged circuits.

Prowl watched, somewhat fascinated, as Bumblebee assumed a crouching position and began moving slowly but silently toward the couch where Ratchet sat with his back facing him.

Prowl’s intakes halted without him even noticing. He tensed as the small yellow bot got closer and closer to the oblivious medic still absorbed in his work. Prowl tensed as Bumblebee got so close to Ratchet that he could reach out a servo and touch him…

But all Bumblebee did was stop, crouching stock still behind the red and white medic. He moved a around a little, as though testing to see how long he could go unnoticed peering around the other mech’s shoulders… and then he started to retreat, as silently as he had advanced.

When he was finally out of the room, Prowl let his systems take in a long hard cycle of air, not having realised his intakes had stalled.

What in the name of Primus had all that been about? Surely… surely Bumblebee wasn’t actually getting GOOD at muting his vocaliser? When and how had he managed this (for him) momentous feat of self-control?

Prowl scowled and dropped from his place in the rafters before making to follow the direction Bumblebee had left in.

A few moments after he left, the red and white mech on the couch lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. “Someone there?” he grumbled out-loud. Upon hearing and seeing no one else, he shrugged, muttering, and returned to mending the part in his servos.

Prowl followed Bumblebee whenever he saw the small mech sneak around during his off time. He witnessed the same sneaking game he’d seen Bumblebee use on Ratchet repeated on both Bulkhead and Optimus… and they had been as oblivious of Bumblebee’s presence as Ratchet had.

Prowl’s processor could take no more. Practically bugging with nagging curiosity, Prowl followed Bumblebee silently to his room. He waited until the small yellow bot had gone in and gave him a minute before he slunk down the corridor and beeped open Bumblebee’s door without knocking.

“-heheh- uh, Prowl! Uh… hey… what… brings… you, here?” Bumblebee stuttered out of his giggling fit as the swooshing of his door alerted him to his un-announced visitor. After getting over the initial surprise, he frowned a little. “By the way, its kinda rude not to knock.”

Prowl levelled a cool but slightly irritated gaze. “I figured you wouldn’t mind seeing as you don’t make a habit of it yourself.”

“Oh come on, that was one time!” Bumblebee shrugged him off, his air confident as he re-composed himself. Bumblebee hopped up onto the side of his berth and looked at Prowl curiously. “So, what brings YOU to my humble abode?”

Prowl leant against the wall beside the now closed door. “You remember that bet we made, back when meltdown was broken out of jail?” he said calmly.

“Yea. ‘Course I do… what, don’t tell me you’re still sore about losing that axle grease. You can’t have it back now, it’s long gone.” Bumblebee scoffed in amusement.

“No, I’m not asking about the axle grease… I was just wondering if you’d been practicing the whole keeping quite thing.” Prowl said innocently, his tone cool and calm.

Bumblebee’s optics shuttered at him a few times, faceplate blank before he forced a fake nonchalant smile back onto it. “Oh, right. What, is my recent loudness disturbing your meditation? If you’re wondering, I’m not trying to be quiet on purpose, it’s just a coincidence that I haven’t been hanging around being as loud as usual wherever you are.” He replied with a slight smirk.

Prowl narrowed his optics a little. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Prowl said casually.

Bumblebee’s faceplate slackened into confusion again, before it turned into a frown. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re making the assumption that you haven’t been hanging out around me. You seem to forget that I can hang around whoever I want without them even knowing I’m there.” Prowl let his own small smirk creep onto his faceplate.

“Yea, so?” Bumblebee retorted with obvious irritation, “Your point exactly?”

“Well, from my observations it seems I’m not the only one.”

Prowl’s smirk widened as the sub-compacts optics widened and then narrowed into a mutinous glare.

“Are you stalking me or something?” Bumblebee said shrewdly.

“I’m hardly the one who could be accused of stalking here.” Prowl countered, trying to keep the amusement from his voice.

“Oh. Sure. Sounds to me like a certain ninja-bot is just jealous cause someone can do what you can do without your help.” Bumblebee piped at him, confident smirk springing back into place.

“Without my help hmm? Are you sure about that?” Prowl’s cool demeanour did not falter.

“Yea without your help! You wont teach me until I agree to do a bunch of boring stuff that I didn’t need to do to learn it myself!” Bumblebee said incredulously, hoping down off his berth and crossing his arms over his chassis.

“Would you have been able to teach yourself if you had not watched and studied my movements and techniques?” Prowl said quietly, smirk turning into a small… proud, smile.

Bumblebee was temporarily lost for words as he gaped at prowl with his mouth hanging open. After a few astroseconds he shut it and let his servos fall to his sides. He looked away, unsure how to counter the Ninja-bot’s logic.

Prowl’s smile widened and he pushed off from the wall, walking forward to look down earnestly into Bumblebee’s face. “You know I’m actually quite impressed. How long has it taken you until they stopped noticing?”

Bumblebee rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly, relieved if not a little surprised by Prowl’s praise.

“Well, I kinda made sure to be extra quiet after Optimus caught me last week and mentioned something about cleaning Ratchet’s medbay.”

Bumblebee looked up, startled, as Prowl actually laughed. “And here I thought you said that stillness and quiet were useless…”

“Hey! I never said that! I was talking about the meditation and the sitting in stupid positions and studying nature stuff and things that aren’t useful when you’re trying to sneak up on your team-mates without them noticing. Unlike all that stuff, this was kinda fun…”  Bumblebee suddenly stifled a giggle. “I got behind Bulkhead and watched him paint some pile of Sari’s old shoes for a whole two breems yesterday and he didn’t even notice! How’s THAT for quiet huh? I could probably make a bet with Jazz that I could sneak up on Sentinel like that and win some awesome cyber tunes off him.”

“What if Sentinel actually caught you?” Prowl questioned with a shrewd grin, startled when Bumblebee laughed again. “Hey, I’m not in boot camp anymore, what’s he gonna do, make me do more transform-ups because he caught me standing behind him for no real reason?” Bumblebee snickered.

Prowl had to admit, Bumblebee had a good point there, although he had the feeling Sentinel might yell at Optimus with the tiniest provocation, even if it was only because one of his team startled him by sneaking into his presence without him knowing.

“You are painfully slow though, you know.” Prowl commented smoothly. Bumblebee glared at him. “So? What does that matter as long as no one hears or sees me?”

“If you’re hoping to use your newfound skills against Decepticons, I don’t know that you’ll want to be taking so long about sneaking up on them. The consequences of being caught in such a situation would be rather more serious than just surprised confusion on their part.” Prowl said sagely.

Bumblebee, rather than get huffy and shrug him off like he may once have done, merely frowned and seemed to seriously consider this revelation. But quite as suddenly as he had become silently pensive, his faceplate broke into it’s familiar wide, impish smirk. “Hey, its not like they could catch me. I’m not the speed demon of the team for nothing ya know.”

Prowl let his smile broaden warmly at the return of the familiar side of Bumblebee. “Be that as it may, I still think you should endeavour to refine your stealth. If anything, at least the silence is a welcome break for me to meditate peacefully.” Prowl teased in his lofty way, getting a lazy swipe in his direction from Bumblebee, which he easily and fluidly dodged.

“Don’t count on it nature-bot, I might just have to seriously test my skills and start practicing on you.” he threatened with a mischievous grin that spoke only of trouble.

Prowl’s visor narrowed but the corner of his mouth curled at the challenge as he turned to walk out “I’d like to see you try!” he shot back. He didn’t need to turn around to know what Bumblebee’s face looked like… he could almost feel the determined blue optics accepting his challenge with anticipation.

This, Prowl decided, was going to be an interesting few solar cycles.

Chapter Text

It was at least another week before someone got suspicious. Which was longer than Bumblebee had expected anyway.

"Alright, spit it out kid, what's the matter with you?" Ratchet grumbled as he finally spotted Bumblebee and cornered him in the rec. room one morning.

Bumblebee, who was getting a cube of energon before making towards his room again to get in some attack move practice before his patrol shift, blinked up at the glare the medic was giving him while blocking his path.

"Uuuh… whadya mean Ratchet?" he said, as of yet not completely comprehending what the confrontation was about (after all he hadn't had his morning ration of energon yet so his processor was still a little sluggish from recharge).

Ratchet's glare narrowed as he stepped forward, causing Bumblebee to retreat back a step or two, not realising the medic was holing him into the corner near the TV to waylay any evasion attempts.

"Don't act dumb with me kid, you're barely around, you spend a whole lotta your free time cooped up in your room, and what's more you're too fraggin' QUIET. And for you, that just ain't normal, so what is it? What's got you upset?"

The red and white bots' tone turned from suspicion to true, somewhat gentle concern.

Bumblebee's processor finally seemed to catch up to the situation. And then he laughed. Ratchet flinched as if Bumblebee had hit him. "N-nothing's wrong with me doc bot! I've just been… keeping busy." Bumblebee replied dodgingly.

Ratchet gave him a wholly unconvinced look before he sighed. "I wasn't sparked yesterday Bumblebee, a fact you're usually quick to point out. Now are you going to give me your REAL answer or am I gonna have to get Prime to give you one of his speeches about trusting your team mates?"

Ratchet smirked at the true look of alarm that came into Bumblebee's optics at the mention of one of Prime's speeches.

Their leader was smart, very courageous, and very thoughtful, but no-one could get out of a room fast enough when he was in the mood to wax lyrical about morals and virtues. He didn't do it often, but most of his team seemed shrewdly suspicious that he had started using it as a form of punishment after noticing how much they hated him doing it.

"No! I'm fine, really, I…"

"Bumblebee? Aren't you supposed to be on patrol?" a cool and (Bumblebee never thought he'd think of it this way) relieving voice cut off his babbling reply to the medic who had physically cornered him without him realising.

Ratchet and Bumblebee's optics both turned to the ninja-bot, who had stepped up so silently neither had noticed just how close he was until he had spoken. Show off, Bumblebee thought privately. Prowl was looking at Bumblebee with a stern, questioning gaze… his left visor squinted at him for a moment… if Bumblebee had not spent the last week training with the black and gold mech, he would not have recognised the tiny gesture. As it was, he caught on to Prowl's tactic immediately and gratefully. "Oh yea! Thanks for reminding me! Sorry Ratchet, but I gotta rocket." he said hastily, and before the medic could protest, he sidestepped the gaping old bot, vaulted the couch, transformed and zoomed off.

He knew that Prowl knew his shift wasn't for another three breems, but he was still happy for the excuse to escape.

"Slaggit Prowl, I only just caught the kid!" the gruff medic griped at him.

"If you managed it once, I'm sure you will do it again." Prowl replied serenely.

Ratchet only glared at him harder. "There's something going on with the kid, and I'm going to find out what before it gets worse. Are you gonna help me or am I going to have to calibrate your thrusters to go in reverse next time you come to me for repairs?"

Prowl did wince at the threat, but he put up his servos in a placating gesture. "Really, Ratchet, there's nothing wrong with Bumblebee."

"Is that so? And you'd know because of your vorns as a medi-bot would you? I thought you were the observant one Prowl, if you haven't been noticing him acting COMPLETELY out of character for the last few megacycles, I'm going to start worrying that you have whatever he's got." The red and white mech stated testily, servos resting on his hips as he gave the Ninja-bot an assessing look, as though truly worried he might have a virus in his systems.

"Honestly, there is nothing wrong with him, or me…"

Prowl wasn't sure Bumblebee would thank him for spilling the beans on his little sneaking escapades, but he wasn't keen on coming away from his next repairs only to slam into the ground the next time he tried to take off in a thruster assisted leap. Apart from that, he had just gotten the scout out of a tight spot, so really Bumblebee couldn't complain at him for revealing his new talents to the rest of his team members. Especially if said team members were exceptionally worried about his odd behaviour.

"Well, are you gonna tell me why the pit he's so quiet or what? Don't make me drag it out of your processor myself." Ratchet stated impatiently, realising the ninja-bot actually had an explanation, but was taking his sweet time spitting it out.

Prowl seemed to consider whether or not to answer the medic straight out, but knowing as he did that Ratchet's new threat was even less empty than his previous one, he shifted from the tense stance he realised he'd taken and swayed infinitesimally on his pedes, forming an appropriate response before he revealed what had been going on (literally) behind the medic's back for the last two or so weeks.

"I was worried about him as well at first, but after observing his behaviour I found he was merely doing something I had never expected he would…"

"Oh? And what's that?" Ratchet prompted, getting impatient with the black and gold mech who was still taking his time to dance around his explanation.

"He has been taking my advice. Not intentionally at first, of course. He just came to a realisation that he had no other choice if his little… endeavour was to be successful. Bumblebee has, in fact, learnt how to mute his vocaliser… AND his thrusters… and has been amusing himself with his newfound silence and stealth by practicing on the rest of you…"

Prowl could not contain the small smile that crept onto his faceplate as the Medic stared at him, utterly bewildered. After a few shuttered blinks of his optics, Ratchet found his vocaliser again. "You're telling me Bumblebee finally learnt how to be quiet… and he did it by himself… as in, without anyone telling or forcing him to do it?"

The ninja-bot nodded. "I was fairly surprised myself. However his motives were not so strange. It was almost reverse psychology… he wanted me to teach him some circuit-su forms… I refused because he would not undergo the necessary processor training to attain focus… so he sort of, taught himself stealth to spite me." Prowl revealed with a smile.

"Huh." was all the response Ratchet could muster at first. He looked at Prowl thoughtfully. "You don't seem as… annoyed with him, as I would expect you to be."

"I'm still too surprised myself to feel offence at his defiance… not to mention he has shown that he has the potential to actually focus on and achieve something as hard for him as complete forced silence-"

"Wait a minute…" grumbled Ratchet, dawning comprehension in his optics. "That's what he was doing, wasn't it? When he was sneaking around and we thought he was trying to pull off some kind of prank."

Prowl let a proud smile creep onto his faceplate despite himself.

"That was before he had perfected his art." Prowl confirmed.

"Before he…" Ratchet gave him a quizzical look before his processor really caught up. "Well slag me, he never stopped sneaking up on us, did he? That's what he meant by 'keeping busy'."

"He is rather good at it now. He managed to skulk around behind you for about four breems yesterday while you were on monitor duty." Prowl revealed calmly, as though discussing the recent economy.

Ratchet blinked in astonishment. "I didn't even see his reflection in the monitors… how in the pit did he do that… don't tell me YOU'VE been HELPING him get better at it…" his gaze turned scrutinisingly on Prowl, who merely gave him a slightly lopsided, almost apologetic smile.

"Well, I saw the potential, it would have been a shame to leave it undeveloped. The skills he's perfecting could prove exceptionally useful in combat-"

"Or more likely in pranks once he gets good enough to pull his stealth tricks on his 'teacher'." Ratchet scoffed. Prowl pulled what could almost be classed as a pout. "You underestimate me Ratchet. Bumblebee would have to do a lot more training before he reached a skill level high enough to even attempt to best me at stealth."

"Modest, aren't we?" Ratchet grumbled with a snicker.

"I didn't mean it like… it is merely a question of…" Prowl began, sounding slightly flustered and looking embarrassed, but Ratchet guffawed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry kid, I trust you know what you're doing. Just keep an optic on him and I'll keep my scanners peeled for him, and maybe between us we can avoid a catastrophe."

Prowl smiled and nodded his agreement before turning to head for his monitor duty shift, feeling somewhat relieved that Ratchet had been so understanding.

"Oh, and Prowl…"

The ninja-bot paused in the doorway and turned his head to the medic.

"… just promise me you won't EVER teach him that off-lining neck hit thing."

Prowl actually laughed. "I promise Ratchet. I don't really want to help drag stasis-locked team-mates into your med-bay every other orn. By the way… are you going to tell the others?…"

Ratchet leaned back on his stabilisers with a soft creak, considering. A wide grin split his faceplate.

"Naaaw. I expect they'll find out… eventually. For the moment, I don't suppose we need to spoil the kid's fun… so long as he's not getting himself into trouble."

Prowl mirrored the medic's slightly devious grin before he left.

A cycle or so later, and Bumblebee was halfway across the city, trundling down some quiet business district street. Being a weekend, the humans were not in great concentration in that area today. Bumblebee didn't mind the quiet drive. He was happy to trundle along lazily at the speed limit, his scanners doing broad, slow sweeps, but he hadn't picked up so much as a blip.

While a little disappointed that he hadn't come across any trouble, not even of the human crime variety, Bumblebee was still content to trundle down deserted roads. As long as he was moving, he was Happy. Even if the scenery wasn't spectacular and excitement was scarce, he was still able to enjoy the smooth tarmac under his tires and the easy purr of his engine bouncing back to his audios off the tall glass office buildings.

It was a very basic happiness, and he wasn't sure why it lulled him into such a contented state. He wondered suddenly, whether this was how Prowl felt when he meditated? It made sense… he seemed to enjoy it so much, even though Bumblebee could never fathom how.

He decided he would ask him when he got back. If he could convince Prowl that patrol drives were his form of meditation, maybe Prowl might decide to actually teach him some real moves as opposed to stealth and spy tactics.

Bumblebee was just wondering how best to phrase his questions when said ninja-bots' voice came through his comm.-link.

Bumblebee! We need backup. We just caught a Decepticon signal heading for the city from the park-side. We're all en-route already, meet us there, and be careful, there were several signal readings, we aren't sure just how many 'con's we have on our hands.

I'm on my way Prowl, but I'll be at least three breems, I'm on the other side of town. Probably why I didn't pick up any signal. Just make sure you leave some for me nature-bot!

Bumblebee heard a noise somewhere between a sigh and laugh in response.

Sure, Bumblebee. I'll tell Prime your ETA. See you park-side.

It had not been a smooth landing. It didn't help that the Elite guard had damaged their ship before they had made their retreat. Well… been forced to make their retreat. Had Megatron not ordered it, they would not have backed down from the pompous Autobots.

As it was, they had followed a lead given to them by a 'Con sympathiser. It had come at a price, of course, everything had a price in Lockdown's books, it was well known. But he only bothered to put a price to it if it was of value.

So they had limped their ship along to the planet Earth and had indeed picked up other Cybertronian signals. None of which were Decepticon. But Lockdown had not failed to mention that the Decepticons left on earth that he knew of had signal dampeners… so they would just have to go looking the old fashioned way once they got there.

Which was why the small troop had trudged out of the large expanse of water they had crash landed in, and was now heading towards the Autobot's signals to see what, if anything, the insufferable glitches knew about the fate of their leader. If they didn't, well… there was nothing stopping them from having a little fun now they were here and their ship would be inoperable for another few orns.

"They are coming." Oilslick stated blandly as the blips on his scanners headed their way. "So very predictable."

"That's about the only good thing about them." Spat Cyclonus as he lazily and haughtily surveyed the disgusting mud-ball their leader had been so misfortunate to land on.

"Uuuugh. Stand still, little fleshies, so I can squish you!" Blackout grumbled, stomping after the multitude of humans who had been quite enjoying their weekend in the park until the band of Decepticon troops had shown up. Each stomp caused a transformer on the nearby powerlines to blow out, showering the fleeing humans in sparks.

"Heh. The great Blackout, can't even squish the squishies." taunted Spitter.

"Save your energon Blackout. You'll have plenty of time to destroy these filthy creatures AFTER we've gotten all we need out of the Autobots." commanded Striker. Blackout ceased his fruitless chase, walking back and roughly clanging shoulders with Spitter in retaliation to his taunt.

"What was it Lockdown said about these Autobots again?" Cyclonus asked, seemingly disinterested in the answer.

"They are not part of the Elite guard. But we are not to underestimate them. Especially not the medic, according to him he has a nasty mean streak and he's faster than he looks with his weapons."

Striker responded, scanning the horizon for the first sign of their quarry.

"If they are not part of the Elite Guard, then what are they, and why are they here? More importantly, how are they any threat to Megatron's cause? Why has he not disposed of them yet?" Cyclonus asked with narrowed optics, apparently much more interested in his own enquiries now.

"They are space bridge technicians." Replied Oilslick coolly. "I believe Megatron was using them as part of his plans."

"Then why did the plan fail? What happened to Lord Megatron?" Blackout said angrily, clearly irritated that the information was not coming fast enough for him.

"That is what we are here to find out. I would say if Lockdown knows not to underestimate them, then he made the mistake of doing so. It is possible they were able to appear much more harmless to Lord Megatron than they were, and if they fooled Starscream, Blitzwing and Lugnut, then they may have managed to escape before our Lord could use them in his plans." Striker mused. "We will be greatly rewarded then, if we manage to punish them for defying his will." she said with a crooked smile as she noticed the approach of blazing sirens bearing Autobot signatures.

"Target the medic first, if he is the most dangerous. At least with him out first, the others will not have any assistance once we immobilize them." Oilslick stated smoothly.

"I'm going after their leader!" Spitter exclaimed eagerly, his optics gleaming with menace and delight. "I heard about him! Optimus Prime, disgraced from the Autobot academy… should be fun to see if he still fights and falls as well as most academy bots do."

"You can have him, but you better hope he doesn't do a number on you like that Rodimus did. I'm not going to help you this time around" Oilslick promised, a slight sadistic grin curling his faceplate as he got the fuming reaction out of Spitter that he had anticipated.

"There are only four of them. Far be it from me to make the same mistake as that bounty hunter… but I cannot help but feel this is not going to be a long fight." Cyclonus drawled sceptically.

The others merely nodded in agreement as the sounds of transformation hit their audios and they turned as one to sneer at the new arrivals.

Alright everyone, we're outnumbered here, so we work in teams. Watch each other's backs, we don't know who these 'Cons are or what they're capable of. Optimus said through their comm. Links as they reached the park where five rather large and rather menacing Decepticons had started wreaking havoc.

"Aaah, Autobots. What a pleasant surprise! And here we thought we wouldn't have a welcoming committee." Striker said languidly before opening fire. She wasn't one much for small-talk. But getting the first word in was just another way to show the Autobots who exactly was boss.

Ratchet dove out of the way of the first shot, and was immediately separated from Bulkhead, who he was supposed to be partnering.

Bulkhead, after staggering sideways to shield himself from the shot, regained his balance and wasted no time in punching one of his wrecking balls at the huge Femme who had attacked first.

"You OK DocBot?" he called over his shoulder as the Femme easily sidestepped his first wrecking ball.

"It'll take more than that to offline me!" was the growled reply.

Bulkhead managed to land a blow on the femme with a quick launch of his other wrecking ball, but it didn't seem to do much damage. After an 'Oof!' and a static filled growl, the femme was coming at him again. "Let's just SEE how much more, shall we?" said a cold, unsettlingly eager voice from somewhere above. Ratchet rolled out of the way just as Cyclonus slammed his blazing purple energon blades into the ground. Ratchet thanked Primus he still had fast hydraulics, or he would have just lost both his servos. Ratchet threw said servos up before him, his magnetic pulse generators sliding out and charging, throwing the unsuspecting seeker-type 'Con about 30 metres away from him.

Ratchet got to his pedes as fast as he could. Bulkhead was still tussling with the huge femme who seemed to be the leader. Ratchet would have used his magnetic field generators to help, but the two were in servo-to-servo combat and the risk to Bulkhead was too great. Plus Ratchet had problems of his own again…

The earth behind him trembled from a massive blow. He turned and gasped. An enormous mech stood behind him. A mech he remembered hearing about back when he was still a fresh young field tech.

Ratchet threw up his magnetic arcs but the huge black 'Con swiped a massive arm at him and Ratchet felt a sickening pulse pass through him as he was thrown back, hitting the ground hard.

No! Ratchet knew he couldn't afford to lose consciousness. He forced his optics online and attempted to hit the slowly advancing Blackout before he could get in another blow…

But his arcs fizzled and nothing happened. "Oh slag!" Ratchet cursed. His primary weapon had been taken offline.

"Get away from him!"

Blackout staggered sideways as a large green wrecking ball smacked into the side of his head.

Bulkhead had noticed Ratchet's plight and with an almighty shove pushed the femme off him. But once he hit the hulking black mech who had been advancing on the red and white bot… it turned it's attention angrily on him.

Striker got up, growling. It wasn't often she came across an Autobot mech capable of overpowering her, and she fully intended to pay him back… but when she looked up to see Blackout advancing on the green nuisance, she decided to leave it to her comrade. She knew the murderous look in Blackout's optics. It would be unwise to come between him and his attacker.

Instead she took over the task of off lining the medi-bot.

Ratchet, processor working overtime, switched out his magnetiser arcs for his EMP generator. He ramped up the setting and pointed it at the retreating back of Blackout and fired, hitting true on the black Decepticon's shoulder.

Ratchet baulked. It had absolutely no effect. And what's more Blackout didn't even seem to notice it. Ratchet tried again, aiming directly for his back. He hit him dead centre in the back. The black mech gave a small, dull laugh, as though it tickled, and looked around. With a smirk and a glare, Blackout raised one foot, then slammed it down in Ratchet's direction, a great purple arc of energy surging from the point of impact. It washed through Ratchet and he felt the power to his EMP cut and diminish.

Ratchet realised, with a sickening lurch of his spark, that he was now weapon-less.

With a roar, Bulkhead charged Blackout, slamming his wrecking ball-fists into the 'Con's chassis. Blackout grunted in irritation, but his feet didn't even budge. Bulkhead glared up at the 'Con, who's head came about level to his, and worryingly the black mech smiled at him. Albeit an evil, chilling smile.

"My turn." Grunted the bass vocaliser, and before Bulkhead had time to retreat, the huge black servos either side of the hulking thing before him rose and fell with a speed he couldn't have anticipated. And when they hit him, they sent a horrible wave of tank lurching, draining EMP through his frame.

Bulkhead fell, off-lined.

"Your turn too, Medi-bot!"

Ratchet swivelled around to find the massive femme behind him. He put his fists up to fight, but she had already pulled back a fisted servo and the next thing he knew, pain rent his cranium and he slammed into the ground, his cognitive functions slipping away from him.

"Where is Megatron, Autobot scum?" The huge tentacled Decepticon asked as he slammed Prime hard into the earth. Optimus didn't answer… he was too busy dodging the blows reigning down at him from the long metallic tongues. He rolled out of the way and lanced off the appendages with his axe as they tried to wrap around his chassis. The large, strange Decepticon changed into it's robot mode and charged at Optimus with a snarl. Optimus had no choice but to meet the short-range charge full on, throwing his shoulder into the approaching mech, who staggered back with a roar of frustration.

"Prowl? Little help here?" Optimus called as the frog-con (as he had labelled him in his head) changed to his bizarre alt mode again and began spitting nitro-glycerine at the blue and red autobot leader, making him dance away from the little explosions created.

"Sorry Prime. A little busy myself." was Prowl's short reply as he jetted into the air to avoid the gas that spread from whatever was in the vile the other motorbike had thrown at him.

Prowl's battle mask slid into place and he deployed his shuriken, throwing them as he reached the peak of his leap and turned off his thrusters. He was aiming for the glass dome protecting the con's cranial unit. Prowl was only guessing it might be a weak spot, but then it was a bit too obvious, and probably re-enforced… all the same, it might distract the walking chemical warfare bot.

Oilslick let out a hum of discontent. The motorbike autobot was proving more of a nuisance than he had anticipated. He recognised the moves, and the weapons… cyber-ninja. Slagit. Those pit slime were harder to offline than a swarm of insecticons… unless you could overwhelm them. They could only dodge so many attackers at once.

Oilslick dodged two throwing stars while the third bounced off his glass helm. He hated when bots tapped it, let alone smacked it with a weapon.

Prowl landed gracefully, changing to robot mode, and skidded around the menacing looking motorcycle-con, heading for Optimus.

Oilslick changed and followed.

Optimus swung his axe down as one of the shiny metal tentacles made to wrap around his chassis again. He cut the appendage clean in half. There was a loud howl and oil and energon splattered Optimus from the 'Con's thrashing wounded tongue.

It was so preoccupied with it's damage it didn't see the other autobot as it approached. Prowl hitched his suspension and with a burst of speed, kicked his back wheel off the ground, springing himself upon the huge frog-con. He slammed his rear wheel into the 'Con's big ugly faceplate and burned rubber, earning another howl from the already thrashing mech as it fell back wards.

"Good work Pro-"

Optimus was cut short as he heard the yells and crashes coming from the other side of their battlefield and turned to see Ratchet being taken offline by the huge femme.

"Optimus look out!"

Optimus swivelled around at Prowl's voice, leaping back just in time to avoid the purple jet that came crashing out of the sky, two energon sabres blazing in his direction.

Prowl, who had changed to robot mode once he had knocked down the frog-con, now changed back to motorcycle mode to avoid the attention of the jet, who seemed quite peeved at him for spoiling his surprise attack.

Prowl dodged the purple 'Con's furious swipes at him easily… until suddenly the friction keeping him balanced as he wheeled around the jet disappeared. Prowl changed to Robot mode with a yell of shock, skidding in the thick oil trail that had not been there only moments ago.

When Prowl came to the end of the skid and rolled onto the grass, he was stopped when he bumped into something solid and metallic.

Looking up, he realised in an instant it was the other motorcycle, smirking down at him while flipping a small glass phial between his digits.

Prowl didn't want to even hazard a guess at what was in that phial or what it would do to him, but he wasn't going to wait to find out.

He knew with that slick oil on his tyres now his vehicle mode was useless, so he collected his legs beneath him and leapt away with the assistance of his thrusters.

But as a huge boom shook the very air, Prowl was stunned by an arc of purple static passing through his chassis, and he fell out of the air mid leap as his thrusters sputtered and died.

He landed like a cat and remained crouching, trying to assess just how bad their situation was right now.

Ratchet and Bulkhead had both been taken offline, and now the three mechs that had been concentrating their attacks on them had diverged on Optimus and himself. Optimus was busy dodging the purple jet. The other motorcycle was coming up on Prowl fast, readying the phial to throw in his direction. The other 'cons were taking their time, as if enjoying the show.

Prowl pushed off before he even bothered to stand from his crouch, thoughts of his old master's mantra running through his processor.

It is the ninja-bot… not the weapon…

Well, that's all he had right now. Although he was thankful given the loss of his vehicle mode and thrusters that at least he still had some shuriken left to aid him.

He got to Optimus' side and decided to see if his holographic projector was still operational. With a fizzle of light particles, he found it was not.

No diversion tricks up his armour sleeves now. Servo-to-servo combat it was…

Prowl leapt as though to attack the jet, but feigned away at the last moment when the large con lashed out.

Prowl used the jets' own movement against him, for in lashing out he left his left side open, and Prowl dodged in and struck a hard blow under the mech's shoulder joint before retreating again.

The Jet let out a cry of pain and shock, reeling back and assessing his victim once more, but the slagger wouldn't stay still. Prowl couldn't afford to stop moving. And what was more, Optimus was having a rather hard time fending off the huge femme who was shooting at him lazily.

Prowl threw a shuriken in her direction and struck deep into one of her plasma cannons, taking it offline.

With a growl of rage, she turned her attention on Prowl, giving Optimus a break to evade Blackout, who had run in to try and catch the leader.

Prowl had already disappeared from her sight, but that was because Cyclonus had caught up with him.

Rather than keen for a decent fight with this somewhat worthy opponent, Cyclonus was over the whole thing now, and with a pointed look towards Oilslick the con's attack got organised.

Prowl was working hard to maintain his core of calm. Two of their number had already been taken out while only one of the 'Cons was sitting out of the fight now (he wasn't even offline, it seemed he was sulking), and he and Optimus were barely holding their own against the rest.

Prowl's attention was being almost wholly claimed by the vicious jet as he dodged swipes from the energy scimitars, landing one or two more circuit-su blows to the sides the purple con left defenceless.

"Prowl! Look out!"

Prowl was momentarily distracted by Prime's voice before the large blue and red mech shoved him to the side.

Prowl heard the sound of tinkling glass. He had fallen on the ground but quickly rolled over to see the Other Motorbike snarling in aggravation as Optimus was engulfed in the vapour spilling from the phial that had been thrown at Prowl.

"nnn-no!" Prime croaked, as he staggered and slowed. Prowl watched in horror as a deep, red, crusty substance spread over Optimus' chassis, swallowing him completely and making movement impossible. Optimus went into emergency stasis lock and fell forward as the cosmic rust quickly covered him completely… leaving Prowl alone among the enemy.

Prowl dodged another blow from the Jet. He got as far from the motorcycle-con as he could, knowing he was being targeted by him with a certain intensity.

The black and gold mech weighed his options. Clearly the 'Cons wanted them for information, or they would have off-lined them all already. Should he wait for Bumblebee and escape with the other mech to call for assistance from the Elite Guard to rescue the other three who would no doubt be taken hostage by these 'Cons? Or should he continue to fight and try his best to overcome them, hard as that would be… besides, Bumblebee was not completely stupid, if he came and saw them all off-lined, he would go and get help.

With this in mind, Prowl decided he would rather try and fight the remaining four cons off his friends.

As if they had read his thoughts, the Motorcycle-con laughed.

"You're good, cyber-ninja… you can fight all you want, but I don't know that it will help your friends…"

And with a sneer he glanced towards Ratchet. Prowl felt a chill go through his circuitry as the huge femme placed a foot on the medi-bots' offline chassis. Prowl heard the creak of pressure being put on the metal and glass of Ratchet's chest plate. He should have seen this coming.

"Now either you come quietly, or we start getting nasty with your offline buddies. Doesn't matter to us if a few of you accidentally offline, we've got spares to interrogate here…"

Prowl's carefully weighed options were shattered and he tensed. He really had no choice now… he hoped to Primus Bumblebee used his common sense and went for help once he realised something had gone wrong…

Before Prowl could surrender, a sudden noise behind him made him spin around, but he was too late. The Frog-con had re-entered the fray and the giant mouth descended and closed around him. Before Prowl could process what was happening, he was engulfed in some sticky, foul fluid and spat out in a wide arc. When he landed, the noxious substance destabilized and he was knocked out by the force of the compound exploding around him.

"He was mine, Spitter!" Oilslick growled, eyes narrowed at the larger 'con.

"Thought I'd save you the trouble. I owed you one, didn't I?" Spitter sneered tauntingly.

"So, how are we going to get these worthless wastes of metal back to the ship?" Cyclonus drawled, twitching only slightly from the tenderised circuitry the Ninja-bot had hit within his chassis and servos.

"We could take the big one in pieces." Blackout suggested with a sadistic grin.

"Well however we get them there, I'm claiming the ninja-bot for interrogation. Fragger's been getting on my sensory diodes with all that jumping and dancing and sneak attacks." Oilslick stated, walking over to the off-lined black and gold mech and kicking him hard in the side.

"You can have him. I want to watch the medi-bot suffer… we can put him with the red and blue one and make him watch his commander rust to pieces. Should be easy to get all we need out of him if we promise to let him cure his friend if he talks." Cyclonus mused with a wicked look dawning on his faceplate.

"That is all well and good, but we cannot waste too much time with this. Even with the five of us they will not be easy to move down through the water. And our first priority is finding and aiding lord Megatr-"

Striker was cut off mid sentence when a blur of yellow leapt upon Blackout, ramming something into the gaps in his armour either side of his head, activating an electrical surge from it's sevos.

Chapter Text

When Ratchet came-to, it was unnervingly quiet.

His first thought as his optics came online and his starter programs booted up, was that it could have been worse. This was because what he saw above him was sky, and not the inside of a ship’s hull.

Slowly, he moved his limbs. Both servos functional. Both stabilisers obeying his CPU’s commands. Head was still on. All good signs.

So why did he have this impending sense of dread in the pit of his tank?

Ratchet sat himself up slowly, looking around, accessing his memory banks from just before he was off-lined. It was easy for him, given war had trained his body for this kind of thing. If he hadn’t gotten better at waking up from being knocked out, he would have been off-lined vorns ago.

He remembered the Decepticon attack. Remembered Blackout (with a small shudder) disabling his primary weaponry, and then the femme had taken him out. Ratchet had known, even as the battle had begun, that he was specially targeted. It was not uncommon for medics to be the attention of enemy fire.

But it was almost as if they knew how he fought… they had anticipated trouble from him.

Ratchet decided to muse on it later. The important thing now was doing his job. And it looked as though he’d have his work cut out for him.

Ratchet spotted Bulkhead nearest to him. With a grunt, he pushed up onto his pedes, swaying slightly as his jolted equilibrium re-adjusted, and went to his large green team-mates’ side.

Bulkhead was still offline, but it didn’t seem he would be much longer. Ratchet did a quick scan just to make sure he had no major injuries. When he was satisfied that Bulkhead would make an alright recovery on his own (other than the dents that would need pounding out later), he turned his optics on the rest of the battlefield. His tank lurched. It didn’t look good.

He could see Prowl, although he was only recognisable by his form as his paintjob was ruined. But Prime… the only thing that came close to any sign of him was a large brown-red form lying face-down in the grass.

Ratchet ran over to the rusted chassis, but didn’t dare touch it. Cosmic rust was highly contagious. It had been stellar cycles since Ratchet had treated a case of the horrifying malady, but he’d recognise it anywhere, and no one could call him unprepared.

Reaching into the sub-space pocket that contained his chemical supplies, Ratchet had to grope around for several astroseconds to find the old phial of the rare substance needed to cure Prime before he went into complete systems failure from the rust seeping slowly into his core systems. It would eventually seize up his fuel pump, and when that happened, off-lining was slow and excruciatingly painful.

Ratchet counted himself lucky he had gotten to Optimus now, the rust had progressed dangerously fast in the midday sun.

Being exceptionally careful, Ratchet opened the small phial and began tilting drops of the Coro-stop on strategic points on Optimus’ chassis. Slowly the antidote got to work, the rust clearing quickly where the substance made contact. 

Trusting the Coro-stop to do it’s job without him, Ratchet moved as quickly as he could to Prowl’s side. He looked exceptionally bad on the outside, as though he had been right in the middle of an explosion. His insides seemed to confirm this as Ratchet took a few scans. There was extensive low level damage, but thankfully nothing too serious.

Ratchet deployed his magnetiser arcs to try and fix some of the heat damaged wires within Prowl’s charred chassis, but found, much to his irritation, that they were still disabled. He would have to fix them manually back at the plant.

For now, the ninja-bot’s self-repair systems would do an adequate job re-connecting the broken circuit relays on it’s own. However, if Ratchet hadn’t been certain Prowl would be out cold for quite a while yet, he would have given him an extra sedative… the damage may not be serious, but it was widespread enough that it would hurt like pit if his pain receptors came online.

“Uuugh… hey… docbot?”

Ratchet turned to see Bulkhead sitting up groggily, looking around and rubbing at the dents in his armour gingerly.

“Good, you’re up. I’m going to need your help getting these two back to the plant.” Ratchet wasted no time in rallying his only assistant.

“OK… wait… where did the Decepticons go?” Bulkhead said sluggishly, processor grinding slowly back into action.

Ratchet merely shrugged with a squeak of his shoulder plates. “Beats me. Seems they were only interested in letting off a little steam. Leaving us alive means they’ll probably want to do it again.” Ratchet grumbled angrily as he went back to Optimus to see how the Coro-stop was progressing. A quick scan told him the cosmic rust had diminished to 40% of Prime’s chassis, which was a relief. He was in the safe zone now at least. At worst he’d only experience mild itching and stiffness for a few cycles.

Ratchet could hear Bulkhead’s neck cables stretch as he looked around for something.

“Hey… where’s Bumblebee? Wasn’t he on his way?”

Ratchet considered for a moment. He hadn’t actually given the scout a thought since the beginning of the fight. He ran a logical scenario calculation through his CPU.

“Hmmm… well if he wasn’t in time to help Prime and Prowl, I’m guessing he went back to the plant to call for backup. Possibly he contacted either of them and they told him to do that. See if you can reach him on your comm. Link.” Ratchet advised, going back to Prowl to see that his self-repair systems had booted up properly.

There was silence as Bulkhead tried to contact his yellow sub-compact friend. Ratchet ran a servo over Prowl’s chassis to try and get some of the charred and peeled paint off to make sure he wasn’t missing any damage that could cause serious problems.

“Huh. That’s weird, I can’t get on to him. It’s just static.”

“He could be doing that on purpose, if he thought he was the only one of us left online and wanted to make sure the ‘Con’s didn’t find him.” Ratchet mused out-loud. But worryingly the slight churning in the pit of his tank got a little more persistent.

Bulkhead’s footfalls shook the ground dully as he came level with the medic.

“Whoa… what happened to these guys? Are they gonna be alright?” Bulkhead asked with anxious concern lacing his vocals.

“Yea, they will be. But I’ll be happier once we get back to the plant. Prime’s going to be itchy as pit when he comes around. They hit him with cosmic rust. And Prowl’s going to have one killer of a processor ache, they seem to have blown him up a little bit.” Ratchet explained with disgust. “Should be safe to move Optimus in another half a breem. Can’t touch him until that rust is 100% cleared, its highly contagious and I don’t have enough antidote to treat all of us if it spread.”

“Fraggin’ Decepticons… next time I see em I’ll…”

“Cool your pistons kid, you don’t want to be meeting those ‘Cons ever again if you can help it, trust me. I’m still not entirely sure what they wanted exactly. It’s not unheard of for a squad of Decepticons to attack with no other purpose than their own amusement, but… I don’t know… something seemed important to them… but they just left us here… I would have at least expected…”

Ratchet trailed off, not even wanting to contemplate the implications of what those ‘Cons would have done to them if they had bothered to take them hostage.

“Are we gonna call the Elite Guard and tell them about this?” Bulkhead asked.

“Of course we are! I’m not going to have random Decepticons running amok through Detroit and not inform the higher ups just because they beat the slag out of us then left us alone. They’re ‘Cons, they’re up to something, and we’re going to NEED the Elite Guard’s help to find out what. We didn’t do so great in our first round, I don’t think we’d do much better if we went a second round with them.” The medic replied gruffly as he checked on Optimus again.

Bulkhead just nodded in comprehension.

“OK… Prime’s alright to transport now. I’m gonna change and you’ll have to load Prowl into my hold and then take Prime with you. You alright to do that?”  Ratchet turned to his large green team-mate, giving him another assessing look to make sure he was fit enough to assist him.

“Yea, I might be a bit slow following you though, the boss-bot’s not exactly light, and my cylinders aren’t really firing in sync after that hit.” Bulkhead explained, wincing as he rolled his shoulder joints a little.

“That’s fine. Take it easy, I’ve already got enough damage to fix up once we get back.”

Bulkhead did as Ratchet had asked, and after a little under half a cycle, they arrived back at the plant.

Once Bulkhead had helped Ratchet get Prowl on the main medical berth and Prime onto a spare one in the corner, he went looking for Bumblebee to tell him they were alright.

He called for his friend and checked the whole plant, but there was no sign of him.

He went and checked the monitors, wondering if his friend hadn’t chased after the ‘Cons, or was perhaps hiding from them somewhere in the city…

But there was absolutely no sign of the yellow mech.

When Bulkhead went back to the medical bay to report Bumblebee’s absence to Ratchet, he was greeted by a loud groan of pain.

“Frag it Prowl! You should still be out cold, why’d you wake up before I fixed my EMP?”

Bulkhead heard the half annoyed, half distressed grumble of the Medic as he rounded the doorframe.

“Not like… nnnggggh I could HELP it…” Prowl growled back through gritted dental plates.

Ratchet was sitting on an old shipping crate and feverishly tinkering away at his EMP generator in an effort to get it to work again. Prowl was awake on the medical berth, one side of his visor cracked and dim. His servos clutched the edges of the berth, shaking, and he was obviously in agony, but he was trying his best to maintain control and mute his vocaliser.

Bulkhead wasn’t sure why Prowl felt the need to do this, in fact he didn’t understand most of the ninja-ish things he did, but he wished he could at least help him in some way. Thoughts of telling Ratchet he couldn’t find Bumblebee left his processor momentarily, as it did not seem a very appropriate time. That and he wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t have a wrench thrown at him for disturbing the medic while he tried to concentrate.

Bulkhead went to Prowl’s side and rested a massive servo gently on the charred mech’s shoulder. Prowl turned his head to him with the merest nod of acknowledgement. “Hang in there… the DocBot’s nearly finished…” Bulkhead soothed as he looked over to where Ratchet had seemingly managed to bring his EMP back online. He fiddled with the settings before getting up and coming over. Bulkhead removed his clawed hand from Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl seemed unmistakably relieved as he continued to bite back growls in response to the torturous fire of pain pervading his whole frame.

“This will just offline your sensor-net, I’m not sending you into stasis again.” Ratchet explained as he finished setting the beam and fired two quick pulses into the black chassis.

Prowl relaxed utterly back onto the berth, a look of great calm and relief sweeping his faceplate.

Looking quite a lot calmer, Ratchet retracted the EMP generator, and swapped it for his magnetiser arcs. He had to tinker within his own arm for another half a breem or so just to get them online, but once he did, he got to work on Prowl, swiftly and deftly changing out blown conductors and fried wires, all while the ninja-bot lay looking completely at ease.

“uuugh… ah… w-where?”

Bulkhead turned at the sound, having been completely engrossed in Ratchet fixing Prowl (he was still worried his friend had severe injuries, not being a medic and not knowing it was all only minor) that he hadn’t paid any attention to Optimus as he stirred on the berth in the corner.

Optimus sat up groggily, scratching at his shoulder and hip, looking both irate and confused.

“Bulkhead? Ratchet?… how did I… we… get back…”

“Take it easy Prime, and for spark’s sake stop scratching. I’m not fixing your paint if you wear it all off.” Ratchet replied, still engrossed in his work repairing Prowl’s main sensor array.

Optimus tried not to scratch, but all he could manage was to lighten it somewhat.

“What happened? Why didn’t the Decepticons… well, how did we get back here in one piece?” Optimus asked, his meta replaying the fight only to conclude the last thing he remembered was getting in the way of something meant for Prowl. “And WHY am I so ITCHY?” he added in growing frustration.

“That’d be the cosmic rust’s after-effects. I managed to get rid of it with some Coro-stop, but it always leaves your joints in a state. Nothing a little fresh oil won’t fix. As to why we aren’t ‘Con hostages, I’m afraid I’m about as clued up as you Prime. I was the first to come around, and I got to work treating the rest of you, the ‘Cons were long gone. Whatever they want from us, seems they aren’t in that much of a hurry to get it. Or something more important came up. Can’t be sure…”

Prime scratched the back of his left audio antenna, frowning. “They wanted to know where Megatron was. But they didn’t really give us any opportunity to tell them anything… they acted as if they meant to capture us… so why would they leave us there?”

“That’s what I was thinking! But it was like Ratchet said, he and I just woke up where we’d been off-lined, no sign of the Decepticons, so we got you two back here…” Bulkhead began explaining.

“Where is Bumblebee?”

Prowl’s soft, flat voice cut the air like a knife.

The others seemed to freeze for a moment. Prime looked nonplussed. Ratchet’s tank gave a sickening churn, and Bulkhead felt his spark quiver with a sudden hint of fear.

“I… I don’t know… I went lookin’ for him, but he’s not in the base, and I didn’t see him on any of the city monitors… you don‘t think he… you don‘t think something happened to him… do you?”

There was a very still pause.

“I swear to pit if that kid did something stupid…” Ratchet grumbled as he closed up Prowl’s chassis, having done everything he could for now (Prowl’s self-repair would have to fix the rest, the circuitry was too small and intricate for him to bother with ). But he couldn’t hide the note of unmistakeable fear that crept into his words.

Ratchet used a servo cable uplink to one of Prowl’s neck conduits to download a pain receptor inhibitor programme that would last long enough for his remaining damage to not bother him.

“Did he contact any of you before you were off-lined?” Optimus asked.

The others shook their heads.

“I was the last to contact him. He said he’d only be about three breems… and given that I was the last to offline and my internal chronometer showed three point five breems before I was taken out, he should have been there by then…” Prowl explained as he sat up, rubbing his helm as the programme Ratchet had installed dulled his sensor relays. He had to take a moment to adjust to the feeling not unlike being wrapped in a cocoon of Styrofoam.

“And he’s not answering his comm. Link?” Optimus queried with a growing sense of anxiety as he absently scratched at his side.

“I tried… all I got was static.” Bulkhead reported, his voice fainter as his processor started to go numb with worry.

“We have surveillance of the park don’t we?” Prowl asked, the only one who still sounded somewhat calm. Sounded… even if he didn’t really feel that way…

“Yea…YEA, and it has a 24 hour recording buffer! We can check the data from the time of the fight!” Ratchet exclaimed triumphantly as he caught onto Prowl’s train of thought.

As one, they converged on the Monitor banks, Ratchet sitting down at the console, his digits flying across the keys as he accessed the recording from the park security cameras from the time of their fight.

“Is there any sound?” Prime asked as the ‘Cons came into view of one of the higher stationed cameras (they had several angles displayed on the multiple screens).

“One of them does, just give me a nanoklik…” Ratchet grumbled, adjusting something on the smallest screen near him.

They watched and listened as the unknown Decepticons sauntered across the park, humans scattering before them.

“They are coming… so very predictable.” the motorcycle stated through the static ridden speaker.

“They were expecting us… so what the slag did they want with us?” Ratchet mused in frustration.

They watched, tense and angry as the Decepticons tried to harm the fleeing humans before bickering amongst themselves.

“What was it Lockdown said about these Autobots again?” The purple Jet queried their leader.

Prowl drew in a sharp intake through his vents, incensed. He said nothing, but the other three noticed him stiffen considerably, as though the news that the bounty hunter was involved had personally insulted him.

The ‘Cons proceeded to re-establish their current knowledge and plans, obviously unaware that they were in the vicinity of the primitive human recording devices. Or perhaps they didn’t care… perhaps they had thought it wouldn’t matter…

“We will be greatly rewarded then, if we manage to punish them for defying his will…”

A chill ran through them to hear the lead femme speak those words with such delight and anticipation.

But it merely deepened the mystery.

Ratchet was not surprised when the motorcycle mentioned targeting him first. He had suspected it after all. And the fact they had anticipated his attitude in battle was thanks to Lockdown, so that at least was one question answered…

Optimus perked up when he was mentioned. Then someone else…

“Rodimus?…I haven’t heard anything about him in stellar cycles… how do these Decepticons know him?…”

It seemed Optimus had another question as opposed to an answer.

And yet there was still no sign of Bumblebee on any of the screens, including those monitoring other parts of the park.

They themselves came on-screen, and then the battle ensued.

It was quite… different, Prowl decided, and somewhat unnerving to see himself fighting on a recording again… Bumblebee’s recording had been much better quality, he thought briefly, before shaking himself mentally and focusing once more.

“Ouch... Almost hurts as much to watch it happen as it did when it happened.” sighed Bulkhead, looking away as the huge clangs of servos hitting him marked the end of his fight.

“And there I go, out of the picture…” Ratchet grumbled with a wince as he watched himself get off-lined by the giant femme after Blackout had disabled his weapons AND Bulkhead.

The focus now fell on Optimus and Prowl, the last two standing.

Looking on as a spectator, Optimus wondered how the hell he’d lasted as long as he did… there were so many near misses, and the odds were stacked so very heavily against them.

Prowl couldn’t stop his own nagging self-critiques over his techniques while he watched, as much as he knew he should be more focussed on looking for Bumblebee in the other screens. Not that he needed to, they were programmed to present any feed from a camera bearing cybertronian signatures in the images to the fore. And so far the cameras had only picked up him, Prime and the Decepticons.

“Thankyou, for that, by the way…” Prowl said quietly to Prime as they watched their leader jump in front of the chemical projectile aimed at Prowl’s back.

“You’d have done the same for me.” Optimus replied softly with a sincere glance at Prowl as he continued to absently scratch at his joints. The ninja-bot gave him a small, grateful smile, before they both looked back to the screen.

“Listen carefully… this is where it gets confusing…” Prowl said as he realised he was about to be stalled by the other motorcycle.

“Now either you come quietly, or we start getting nasty with your offline buddies. Doesn’t matter to us if a few of you accidentally offline, we’ve got spares to interrogate here…”

“So why didn’t they take us hostage? That’s what I thought their plan was!” Ratchet exclaimed, maddened by the ever more confusing mystery.

“I suspect we’re about to find out… I’m about to be exploded.” Prowl stated calmly.

They watched and all but Prowl winced as the slim Autobot motorcyclist was taken up in the frog-con‘s mouth, who had leapt off the sidelines and back into battle quite suddenly, to both Prowl’s and the other Decepticon’s surprise apparently.

Prowl was spat out, covered in an orange tinged gelatinous substance that exploded around him as he hit the ground.

“Ouch, kid, I’m surprised you got off so lightly from that…” Ratchet said, cringing as he glanced over at Prowl’s still ruined paint.

“I assure you it didn’t FEEL like I got off lightly…” Prowl stated a little irately.

“He was mine, Spitter!” The Motorcycle-con raged on screen.

“Well at least we have another name to a faceplate now…” Optimus muttered, studiously ignoring the rusted chassis that was him up in one of the corner screens.

“So how are we going to get these worthless wastes of metal back to the ship?” the Jets’ voice drawled, his words stunning the four Autobots as they watched.

Bulkhead cringed as Blackout suggested they take him back in pieces.

Prowl gasped and a servo unconsciously went to a nasty dent in his side as he heard the Motorcycle-con claim him for interrogation as he kicked his unconscious, motionless form.

“- I want to watch the medi-bot suffer… we can put him with the red and blue one and make him watch his commander rust to pieces. Should be easy to get all we need out of him if we promise to let him cure his friend if he talks.”

Both Ratchet and Prime nearly purged their tanks when they heard this.

“That sick, twisted, FRAGGER…” Ratchet breathed in utter disgust, physically drawing back from the console a little. The very idea of enduring what the Jet had suggested horrified him. It didn’t look like Optimus enjoyed the idea that they were so near to the nightmare becoming a reality without even having known it either. They shared a glance. So why HADN’T it happened?

The leader was talking again but none of them had been listening, because something had just caught Prowl’s optic and he let out a short cry of shocked disbelief.

They all turned as one when the femme was cut off mid-sentence by the appearance of a yellow blur that vaulted onto Blackout.

“Bumblebee!” Bulkhead exclaimed, his voice a mix of conflicted emotions at finally sighting his friend.

What happened next was by far the thing that stunned them all the most.

Bumblebee tried the other’s comm. links as he reached the park and headed for the scene of the fight.

Worryingly, he couldn’t get onto any of them. He was careful to avoid all the cameras he knew were positioned around the park, in case the ‘Cons were hacking the feeds.

Thinking that perhaps the others were hiding and making a surprise attack of some sort that he wasn’t privy to, Bumblebee changed out of vehicle mode and slipped into the nearest clump of trees, hearing the voices of angry Decepticons on the other side of the small grove.

Using his newfound skills in the art of silence, Bumblebee crept between the trees, careful to push any twigs or branches out from under his feet so as not to alert the Decepticons of his presence. Not that he needed to keep all that silent, he doubted they’d hear him over the sound of a small explosion they just set off…

Bumblebee was a pit of a lot faster in all of this than he had been while practicing on his friends… his speed came from necessity, but he was not at all prepared for what he found when he caught sight of the field where the battle had taken place.

He clasped a servo over his mouth, nearly forgetting to mute his vocaliser…

He was too late…

His team mates were strewn across the field like so much scrap metal.

And then he heard what the Decepticons were saying as they begun to converge on his offline companions.

“So how are we going to get these worthless wastes of metal back to the ship?” drawled a large purple Jet that didn’t look like the seekers Bumblebee was used to…

“We could take the big one in pieces…” the largest suggested with a wicked look at Bulkhead.

Bumblebee was very hard pressed to stop himself from growling and attacking right then and there… but he knew if he went headlong into battle against five Decepticons when the rest of his friends together hadn’t been able to stop them, he had no chance… he SHOULD go and get help, he knew he should, but they were talking about taking the others back to their ship, there was no WAY the Elite guard could get there in time to get them out of this…

“Well, however we get them there, I’m claiming the ninja-bot for interrogation. Fragger’s been getting on my sensory diodes with all that jumping and dancing and sneak-attacks.” Said a mech whose very appearance made Bumblebee shudder. He walked over to something on the ground and kicked it. It was only as it made a clanging noise that Bumblebee realised the charred black shape was Prowl.

Bumblebee crept closer… they still hadn’t noticed him… he should turn and run before he missed his chance, before they spotted him…

“You can have him. I want to watch the medi-bot suffer… we can put him with the red and blue one and make him watch his commander rust to pieces. Should be easy to get all we need out of him if we promise to let him cure his friend if he talks.”

The Jets words were too much for Bumblebee.

That was it.

There was no way he could leave them there. He couldn’t abandon his friends to torture and dismemberment and death, not even if it meant he went with them. If he turned back now and went for help, what was to say they wouldn’t all be off-lined before anyone could reach them?

Bumblebee had made his decision, and without hesitation he executed a plan of attack he hadn’t even imagined he’d ever use.

Watching the recordings of the ninja-bots’ sparring matches and spending cycles in his room making up and practicing fight sequences had not been for nothing. He’d even managed to appropriate moves from some of his video games into real life combat.

Now, much sooner than he’d ever have thought or liked, he was going to see if any of it actually worked.

Bumblebee went with his head. Go for the biggest one first. Running from the trees, he appeared as little more than a yellow streak as he pounced up onto the big black mech.

With an enraged cry he swiftly changed his servos for his stingers, jammed them into gaps in the armour either side of the hulking ‘Con’s neck and charged them up.

Blackout crashed to his knees with a staticy shout of agony and anger. It felt like someone was pouring molten pit slag over his processor.  He felt the surge travel down through his thick chassis and was distinctly aware of his EMP disruptor shorting out.

As fast as the pain had come, it relinquished.

But whatever had caused it wasn’t finished with them yet.

The Decepticons were too startled to do more than gape at first. Bumblebee used their shock to it’s fullest advantage, and kicking his heel tyres into gear he scooted around the dazed black giant before coming up behind the purple Jet’s legs and shooting a few bolts of high charge energy at the backs of his knee joints.

The Jet went down with a gasp of shock, and then fell forward, faceplate squishing into the dirt as a weight propelled itself onto his cranial unit.

After only a moment, the weight was gone and he looked up, furious and confused, spitting mud from his mouth.

Bumblebee had jumped at the back of the Jet’s head, and as he had hoped, the ‘Con had gone down in his daze of shock and confusion.

Bumblebee moved on, his wheels kicking up the grass and dirt as he dodged a swipe from the giant femme.

Bumblebee saw the motorcycle-con change to his alt. mode and roar across his path, spilling something in his wake.

Bumblebee merely jumped the oil-slick as if it were a video-game obstacle and wheeled around to follow the bike. He sent a sharp burst of energy at the Con’s back wheel and managed to burst his tyre. The Decepticon changed back to robot mode with an enraged howl.

Bumblebee dodged a glass projectile thrown his way by the motorcycle-con and swerved at a ninety degree angle, throwing mud all over the ‘Con’s chassis before he engaged his rocket boosters and kicked it up a notch.

By now, the other Decepticons had woken up from their flabbergasted daze enough to start fighting back.

Bumblebee very narrowly missed a long silver tentacle as it lashed out to trip him up. He shot a few bolts in it’s owner’s direction before making another ninety degree turn and bolting off… straight towards a large and menacing femme. She opened her arms wide to catch him, and he knew he was going too fast to stop, so he jumped, as though to meet the embrace that was probably meant to crush him.

However, he flung up a foot, and gave his boosters a jolt more juice, so that he was too fast for her clumsy attempt to catch him, and his tread ended up square in the centre of her faceplate. She let out an exclamation of shock and rage.

Bumblebee pushed off her face and twisted to land, stumbling and pushing off of the ground with his servos before running from the roaring femme.

Cyclonus took his time standing, feeling outraged and humiliated, but still not enough so to loose his CPU…

He watched the yellow blur as it continued to give the others the run around. If he hadn’t just been embarrassed by the sub-compact piece of scrap, he would be laughing at how pathetically his comrades were doing. Cyclonus squinted at the small bot as it shot at Spitter.

He recognised a red splodge on it’s chassis amoung the yellow and black. He sneered in understanding. Autobot.

It was defending it’s friends.

To Cyclonus, it was laughably easy.

He strolled towards the closest off-lined autobot, the motorcycle mech Oilslick had claimed.

Cyclonus drew one of his energy scimitars.

The next time the motorcycle-con threw another glass cylinder at him, Bumblebee caught it.

The Decepticon seemed surprised by his lightning fast gamer reflexes. NO bot had ever tried to catch one of his phials before, they had been too scared of the contents to do anything but run. Apparently this one had no idea who he was or what was in his servo. He was so surprised in fact that he didn’t dodge in time when the projectile was thrown back his way. It bounced off his helm and smashed at his feet.

“Oh, SLAG.” He growled. He was just thankful he had been throwing something other than cosmic rust germination gas at the irritating new intruder. However, the coolant congealer he HAD thrown had just seeped into his chassis and he found it inherently uncomfortable to move as he began searching in his sub-space pockets for the antidote before he started to overheat.

Bumblebee dodged the fire from the huge femme’s single cannon, throwing his own bolts at it. He hit the weapon as it fired and it exploded, making the femme yell out in both pain and frustration. Both her laser cannons were now rendered useless. And to add to that she now had a small rent in her shoulder armour.

“AUTOBOT!”

The word was spat as it was shouted across the field.

Bumblebee turned, and his tank churned in horror. The massive purple Jet was holding an energy scimitar threateningly above Prowl’s prone form.

For a moment, the world seemed to dissolve.

And before any of the bots present quite knew what was happening (including Bumblebee himself), the yellow menace had rocketed straight into the Jet’s midriff, jamming his stingers into the nearest cracks of armour and charging them to full throttle.

Cyclonus had been too stunned to carry out his threat to the ninja-bot. He had expected the same reaction that any autobot with sense would have had. He‘d thought the sub-compact would freeze and surrender. Suddenly he realised that Lockdown really hadn’t been kidding when he advised not to underestimate these ‘bots… he had underestimated this one’s utter stupidity! Except it was to his cost.

True, the autobot had hit him so fast he had staggered back, but he had not fallen, and being such a large mech, the very painful stings of electricity that rang through his frame were still not powerful enough to off-line him. Or do any lasting damage other than set his sensor net on fire.

Before Cyclonus could focus his rage and swat the autobot off him, it had already detached itself and zoomed away… but not too far away.

Bumblebee took a defensive stance over Prowl’s form. He had done well so far, but as his vents cycled furiously his spark quivered with the first true waves of fear.

That Jet had just found his weak spot… he couldn’t defend all of his friends at once… he would try, of course, but-

Laughter broke through Bumblebee’s frantic processing.

He looked over at the Jet, who was rubbing his chassis and sauntering over to a red and white heap.

Bumblebee jumped into action again, determined to stop them for as long as he could.

But this time Cyclonus was ready for him. The servo not holding a glowing blade above the medi-bot swung around and smashed into the yellow chassis before Bumblebee’s flying leap at him afforded him any advantage.

Even as Bumblebee hit the ground and rolled, getting to his stabilisers, he knew that had been supremely stupid… he was afraid, afraid they would get hurt, and he was losing his focus as his fear grew. He groaned, feeling the dent in his chassis.

Bumblebee saw the femme joining in the new strategy, raising her servo with the intent of smashing it down on Bulkhead. Bumblebee didn’t even stop to process anymore… he had reverted to instinctual reactions. He jetted towards his huge green companion, throwing as much electricity at the femme as his stingers could produce.

They bounced off her armour in a shower of sparks, and through those sparks came a massive foot, kicking Bumblebee upside the head. Bumblebee went flying and skidded on his back across the ground. The feel of wrenching metal and a pang of pain told him one of his boosters had just torn away from it’s integrating port on his back.

Bumblebee flipped himself to his feet as soon as his skid halted. He felt lopsided as he stood again, now that he only had one rocket still attached to him.

His engine shuddered as he saw the Jet lazily pointing his laser rifles at a large, rusty chassis that Bumblebee had recognised with a sick feeling earlier was Optimus.

“NO! GET AWAY!” Bumblebee yelled furiously, static lacing his voice, as he sped at his normal pace towards the Jet, one jet booster pretty much useless to him now.

He didn’t even get as far as a few metres before something struck him from behind. He smacked into the earth, back strut bending as his heels flipped up nearly over his head before falling to the earth with a clang. Bumblebee barely had the chance to spit the mud out of his mouth before he felt something wrap around his left leg and he was lifted into the air. After a few dizzying astroseconds hanging upside-down, Bumblebee was hurtled towards the ground again, crying out in pain as he was slammed against the earth.

His processor stalled a little as he was dragged back into the air, but still running on basic instinctive programming, Bumblebee pointed a stinger at the thing around his leg and shot off as much electricity as he could manage.

The silver tongue tentacle released him as it’s owner yelped in pain.

Bumblebee hit the ground helm first with a grunt of pain… but with his one goal still in mind, he staggered to his feet to protect his friends.

He could hear laughter. It was the Jet. He seemed to find this fight funny…

Bumblebee ran to Optimus’ side as he was nearest, and the motorcycle-con walked towards him sluggishly, tossing another cylinder around in his servos.

“Come on Autobot… this is fun and all, but we have better things to do…”

“Stay the SLAG away from them!” Bumblebee spat, energon leaking from the corner of his mouth.

He raised his stingers threateningly.

“Hmm. If you insist.” the ‘Con replied with a wicked smirk.

Before Bumblebee knew it, something very large and very heavy smacked him across the head and he went down hard.

He very nearly off-lined… but he was too highly revved now to go out easily… he was their last chance, even though he knew it was a pathetic one… he couldn’t fail, he COULDN’T…

“D-don’t… leave them alone… come on…what’s wrong with you all… too scared to fight me???” Bumblebee growled at them as he staggered back to his feet, seeing the big black mech he’d attacked first. He must have been the one to hit him from behind. Right now he was staring at Bumblebee as if he had some sort of cyber-virus.

Someone behind Bumblebee laughed and he had barely turned to face them when searing, white hot pain rent his frame. Bumblebee cried out as he was thrust backwards into the ground, something embedded in his left shoulder joint. His Optics flickered against the agonising pain before onlining for him to see what was causing it.

The purple jet stood over him, sneering, the tip of one of his energy blades shoved into Bumblebee’s shoulder, pinning him down. He thrashed weakly, trying to free himself, but the blade was driven a little deeper and he yelled as fresh energon flowed from the wound.

“I wouldn’t say scared, autobot… fragged off, maybe.” stated the Motorcycle-con as he strolled over, sneering like the jet.

“So you want us to spare your friends, autobot? Why should we?” The jet asked silkily, cruel delight dripping from his vocals as he leaned his weight into the scimitar a little more, making Bumblebee growl in pain.

“You… you said interrogate…. What do you want to know?” Bumblebee ground out through clenched dental plating.

“We want to know what happened to Lord Megatron!” Blackout growled down at him, glaring.

“I know what happened… I know everything, you don’t need to question the others…”

“Aaaaw, but where’s the fun in that? You‘re just going to TELL us all we want to know, tsk tsk autobot, I thought we‘d at least have to torture you a little bit to get what we want.” the frog-con whined with a malicious grin.

“I think we have solved our problem. We don’t need to haul these worthless scrap heaps back to the ship, we can just take this one. If he is lying and knows nothing, it doesn’t matter… we can use him to get to the rest of them, and he is much easier to transport on his own. Blackout, if you would…” The femme commanded in a haughty voice.

Fear and relief pulsed overwhelmingly through Bumblebee’s spark… he had done it… they were leaving the others alone…

But he was taking their place.

It will be worth it… it will… they’ll come for me…

Bumblebee was finally plunged into darkness as the huge black mech hit him right on the arrow on his helm, hard, sending him into stasis.

They stared at the screen, utterly silent.

No one could quite believe what they had just seen.

No one wanted to.

“No… Bumblebee… why did he… why did he do that?” Bulkhead whispered, sounding horrified.

“Kid’s got more guts than any mech I ever met during the great wars… but he has no idea what he’s in for…” Ratchet mumbled quietly, bowing his helm and stopping the video as the ‘Cons left the scope of their surveillance, taking the badly beaten Bumblebee with them.

“When did he learn to do all that?” Optimus asked weakly, referring to the way Bumblebee had fought.

“Only recently… I never imagined any of our training would be put to the test like this though… he exceeded even my expectations…” Prowl explained softly, his half-cracked visor fixed on the paused screens, though he wasn’t really looking at them.

“You’ve been training with him?” Bulkhead asked, merely to distract himself from the horrifying thoughts of what might be happening to his best friend at that very moment.

“He started his own training, with you… he carried on by himself, just like he threatened to do. What’s most amazing is he actually succeeded. He got to the Decepticons without tripping a single camera, and they didn’t hear or see him. I only helped him to refine those skills, he taught them to himself. I helped him with battle strategies, but not with those moves…” Prowl expatiated. Prime and Bulkhead stared at him with a mix of awe and anxiety. Even with his newfound fighting capabilities, how did he ever think he had a chance against 5 Decepticons when the rest of his team had already been off-lined by said ‘Cons? Even Bumblebee wasn’t that stupid… certainly not if he’d taught himself stealth like that!

“He knew… he did it on purpose, he didn’t want them to haul us off, he sacrificed himself…” Ratchet muttered to himself, half in awe and half in horror as he realised exactly what had made Bumblebee do something so insane.

The spoken realisation settled a stunned silence on the four.

Eventually, Bulkhead broke their solemn silence.

“We gotta get him back. We have to find those Decepticreeps and rescue him, we can’t waste time-”

“You’re right Bulkhead, but there’s not much point in just us going back to get our skid plates kicked again. We need to find a way to contact the Elite Guard for help.” Optimus replied, his processor working overtime to try and think what to do, and do it FAST.

“I’m on it.” Ratchet said fervently as he was snapped out of his distraught reverie. His digits flew across the console once more.

When Bumblebee onlined again, the first thing he registered was pain. Not that it surprised him. But all the same, he would rather have remained in unfeeling stasis.

As he stirred and groaned, he heard and felt heavy footfalls coming towards him, clanking against the metal surface he was on.

Bumblebee onlined his optics, only to offline them again a moment later with a yelp of pain as he was kicked just under his chassis.

His servos moved to grasp at his dented black plating, and he found they were bound in stasis cuffs. And a jolt from his left shoulder reminded him of the deep wound the Jet’s sword had made in it.

“The Autobot has finally come around. Go get Striker.” the Motorcycle-con’s voice said somewhere above him.

Bumblebee heard the sound of another pair of feet leaving.

He onlined his optics again, gingerly. The room was dimly lit, but as he looked up, the glass helmed Decepticon was walking away from him and touching a few buttons on a panel outside the door. A few more lights came on, and Bumblebee took a quick look at the room they were in.

He instantly recognised it as a ship… although the Decepticons had said as much, so that was no real achievement to realise.

The walls and floor were a dull metallic grey, utilitarian, a plain metal slab sticking out of the wall for a berth, and no windows or portholes… when Bumblebee saw the energy bar generators in the door-frame he realised he was in a brig cell.

He tested his restraints, but unfortunately they seemed to be Elite-guard standard issue… which Bumblebee had never had any real luck breaking out of before.

Bumblebee tried to sit up. His processor jolted with pain and he fought the agony in his shoulder. He leant against the wall he was close to. He looked up, wincing, as he realised the motorcycle-con was watching him from the doorway.

“What?” Bumblebee spat.

The Con gave a cold short laugh. “No need to be rude Autobot. Just wondering how it’s possible a mech as dim-witted as you has managed to stay online for so long.”

“I guess I’m just lucky.” Bumblebee sniped back sarcastically.

The sound of approaching footfalls outside halted their conversation before it could escalate, but Bumblebee did not feel at all relieved.

He knew what was coming. The first bit would be easy. It was what might happen after that worried him the most…

“Alright Autobot scum…” growled the femme as she stomped into the cell, walked over to him and unceremoniously grabbed his stasis cuffed servos. She hauled him up and shoved him into the wall, suspending him by his arms. Bumblebee grunted in pain and discomfort, feeling fresh energon trickle from his shoulder, but did not break optic contact as she shoved her faceplate into his.

“What do you know of Lord Megatron?”

“Wow… anyone ever tell you how bad your ventilation fumes smell? You oughta get that looked at…” the yellow sub-compact said coolly without any mirth.

Bumblebee grunted as he was punched in the chassis.

“That was a warning,  Autobot… next time it will be your faceplate.” She growled at him.

“OK, geez… good luck finding him… I don’t know where he is exactly…”

The Femme growled in frustration, raising her fisted servo again.

“…No one does!… He captured our ship with Starscream… well, Starscream’s head… and now they’re Transwarping randomly around the galaxy because the ship’s damaged…”

If Bumblebee was proud of one thing, it was his flawless ability to bend the truth, as he liked to think of it. He had convinced Sentinel that he’d knocked a building down on him once… in a way, it WAS his fault, because Bulkhead wouldn’t have done it if he wasn‘t saving Bumblebee‘s skidplate.  And technically, their ship WAS damaged… that wasn’t why Megatron was warping randomly around space, but Bumblebee wasn’t about to reveal to the Decepticons that their leader had possession of Omega Supreme… they might find a way to assist him, and then they’d all be in deep slag.

As it was, the femme seemed to buy his story.

That didn’t mean she was pleased though.

She let his arms go and he crumpled to the floor in a clanking heap. He would have rubbed his badly jarred aft if he could reach it, but annoyingly the stasis cuffs prevented him.

“You better be telling the truth Autobot…” she threatened him with a glare.

“Would this face lie to you?” Bumblebee smirked up at her, feeling the dried energon at the edge of his mouth cracking.

“It had better not, or I’ll have to re-arrange it for you.” she retorted.

“What happened to the other Decepticons?” The cold voice of the Jet cracked through the air. Bumblebee looked past the Femme for the first time since she entered, and realised all the Decepticons were there…

“What, Blitzbrain? Luglump? Tch, who knows… they ran off when Megatron got thrown through his spacebridge. They’re probably hiding out somewhere.” Bumblebee retorted, sounding as nonchalant as he could, but inside his spark pulse had sped up. Something about them all being there was giving him a really bad feeling.

“You mentioned something about Starscream’s head?” The motorcycle-con threw at him with a scrutinizing glare.

“Oh, yea. He lost his body to some teenage human.” Bumblebee replied carelessly.

He very nearly smiled at their utterly stunned reactions.

The frog-con Spitter growled, and before Bumblebee knew what was happening, a metallic tentacle shot from under the con’s chassis and wrapped around him, putting pressure on his chestplate as it drew him  in to be optic-to-optic with the mech.

“You’re just having us on, aren’t you???” He snarled furiously, as though Bumblebee had personally insulted him somehow. “Ah! No, I’m serious!… Nnngh the kid’s name is Masterson, he makes these head unit thingies and steals bodies…”

Bumblebee gave a yell as he was thrown from the crushing appendage and hit the wall, crumpling on the floor again with a groan.

“Hmph. I wouldn’t put it past Starscream to be stupid enough to have his body stolen.” muttered the Jet with the smallest hint of amusement.

Bumblebee rolled onto his back, static hissing from his vocaliser. His body ached… surely that was all they needed to know? Perhaps they would leave him here for a while…

“Well, we will have to report back to Cybertron. We can do nothing more for Megatron, and we’re stuck here until the ship is repaired.” The Femme concluded after some processing of the new information. What the autobot had told them did seem to make sense. There were gaps in the information, but the way he spoke, he had told them all he knew, and clearly he seemed to think so, because he was almost relaxing as if expecting them to leave. Striker grinned wickedly.

“I shall go and inform Megatron’s agent of what we know. Meanwhile… have fun making that postcard for the Autobots, so they know how their friend is doing.” Striker said with malicious delight as she strode from the cell.

Bumblebee turned his optics on the remaining four Decepticons who leered at him with sadistic grins, his spark suddenly gripped with fear.

Postcard???

What the slag did she mean by postcard???

Chapter Text

"Anything yet Ratchet?" Optimus asked for the third time that cycle.

With a heaving sigh through his vents, Ratchet pushed away from the console and ran a servo exasperatedly over his faceplate.

"Nothin'. Slagging nothing! Without Omega and teletran, I've got no hope of contacting them. Short of Bulkhead making that spacebridge, which'll take too long to be useful, we're completely cut off. All we can do is hope the Elite Guard are passing through by chance." Ratchet grumbled bitterly.

Optimus offlined his optics and ran his digits over the covers, hoping the temporary disuse of his sight might afford his processor some room to think of what they were going to do now.

"I'm going to review some more footage and see if I can't get a clue as to where their ship is at least." Ratchet said, going back to the console and typing away speedily, bringing up different images on the various screens. Optimus decided to help him, seeing as there was little to nothing else he could do.

And he still needed something to keep him distracted from the maddening itches in his joints.

"How could you have just LOST their signal? It was a whole SHIP for crying out loud!"

Jazz's face gave the smallest twitch, but he kept his back to his fragged off commander so it was not seen.

"It was headin' for Earth S.P. You know the moisture on that planet makes it a bad scene for signal detection." The black and white mech responded in his usual calming, smooth tones. Unfortunately, the information in his voice made it's tone useless.

Sentinel let out an overly loud groan. "Not THAT pit-slagging planet again. And you'll address me as SIR." The blue and yellow Prime added primly in his irritation.

"Sure thing Sentinel Prime sir." Jazz said flatly back as he continued to scan for the lost Decepticon ship.

They had arrived at the Space-Bridge port where Rodimus and his crew had been overwhelmed, and as soon as they had picked up the badly damaged unit of Autobots, they had chased after the fleeing Decepticons per Ultra-Magnus' orders.

Normally they would have been let go, but when they were tracked heading in the vicinity of earth (Megatron's last known location), it had been decided that they ought not to be allowed to re-unite with their leader and strengthen his troops base.

"What do ya wanna do Sentinel Prime sir?" Jazz asked, used to the game of having to keep up the formal address until his boss was in a good enough mood to let it slide again like he usually did.

Sentinel heaved a dramatic sigh of his vents. "I don't suppose we have much choice but to follow them down there."

Jazz set in the co-ordinates before getting up and mentioning something about going to see how the twins and their other tag-alongs were holding up.

He knew better than to hang around the Blue and yellow mech when they were heading somewhere the Prime detested. He didn't feel much like having his audios chewed off with constant complaints, especially the ones directed at Optimus, which tended to get under the black and white ninja's plating a little more, given he actually respected the Red and Blue Prime. If only he truly WERE still a Prime… Jazz would have transferred to Optimus' team in a spark beat given the chance… Pit, he'd still be willing to transfer, even if they went back to fixing space bridges, hanging with the other crew in any circumstance was preferable to taking orders from Sentinel.

Jazz sighed softly through his vents, drawing on his eternal well of zen like calm.

If it was meant to be, it would be. For now, he'd go with the flow the way he always did, and diffuse and deflect his commanders moods as was necessary. No point letting them rub his plating up the wrong way.

Jazz walked past the engine room and popped his head through the door to check on the jet twins. He had been a little surprised to find their competence for fixing and running ship engines was so great. He'd known they were formerly refinery bots, but it seemed they had always dabbled in engine repairs to earn some extra credits. He couldn't blame them. Refinery work was one of the worst paying and dangerous jobs on Cybertron. And as much as they seemed ecstatic at their new rate of pay in their prestigious Elite Guard positions, Jazz knew it would be too easy for the higher ups to take advantage of the two young, naive and highly skilled mechs. He had made it his mission to watch out for the two.

After ascertaining that they were both so bored working the engine with laughable ease that they had been playing 'I spy' for the last half a cycle, Jazz moved on to see how the others were doing.

They had picked up Ironhide and Brawn when they had finally reached the space-bridge outpost that Rodimus' team had been defending.

Ultra Magnus himself had gotten special clearance to take the rest of Rodimus' team straight to the space bridge nexus on Cybertron so they could receive urgent medical attention, but Ironhide and Brawn, upon hearing Ultra Magnus order Sentinel and his team after the 'Cons, had insisted on coming. And given that their injuries were the least significant of any of their team members, the Elite Guard commander had allowed it.

"You two bots cool down here?" Jazz asked as he strolled into the cargo hold where the two extra crew members were hanging out, letting their self-repair systems patch up their minor damage.

"About as cool as you can be when you've been kicked around by 'Cons and blown up once or twice." Grumbled Brawn, rubbing his cranial unit in an effort to soothe away his throbbing processor ache.

"You guys still sure you wanna go after these 'Cons? You look like you'd rather have a few cycles recharge." Jazz asked calmly, but he was pretty sure he knew what the answer was going to be.

Ironhide guffawed. "Recharge rather than chase those pit slaggers? Over my glitched and offline chassis."

Jazz gave him a crooked smile. "Alright, if you think you're up for it, I ain't saying the extra help isn't needed. We're headed for Earth. Got a team of bots down there that'll need our help if the 'Cons that attacked you end up going after them. Or worse, join up with the other forces Megatron has on that planet."

"What other forces are we talking about exactly?" Brawn asked with gruff apprehension.

"Just a few of Megatron's top lieutenants." Jazz replied casually.

The other two gaped at him.

"Like who exactly?" Ironhide baulked at him.

"Hmmm, well Starscream probably headed back when he escaped from captivity, then there's that triple-changing glitch-mouse Blitzwing and Lugnut usually hangs with him."

The other two looked from him to each other and back again.

"We gotta get those fraggin 'Cons before they meet up with any o' those pit demons, or your Earth bots will be in a world o' pain." Ironhide stated rather mater-of-factly.

"We wouldn't know any of these mechs stationed on Earth would we?" Brawn asked apprehensively.

"Probably not. They're space bridge techs. Got tangled in a whole lotta wacked out jive when the all-spark fell into their laps. If it weren't for Optimus' team the Decepticons woulda got a hold on it Megacycles ago." Jazz said with the smallest hint of awe in his tone.

"Wait… Optimus? As in Optimus Prime? Ain't he the one that got kicked outta the academy? Didn't know he'd been shunted into Space Bridge Repair. Who's on his team?" Ironhide asked curiously, having heard several stories from other Elite Guard members about the disgraced Prime.

"Well, ya might know Ratchet. He's their medic. Played a pretty big part back in the great wars, but I don't think it's something he's very proud of. Got a cyber-ninja on their team too, that's Prowl. An the other two are space bridge expert Bulkhead and their scout Bumblebee… what?"

Jazz gave Ironhide an enquiring if not annoyed look as the large red mech laughed heartily.

"Bulkhead and Bumblebee? Oh you gotta be kiddin' me, they got busted to space-bridge grunts? Why am I not surprised!"

"You know em?" Brawn growled in what for him passed as curious.

"Know 'em? They were in boot camp with me when I first signed up! Pair o' total glitch-detail-flunkies, those two were practically made for each other. One was big, dumb n clumsy, n' the other was small, over-confident and clumsy. Couldn't find two bots less likely to graduate training."

"Well technically Bulkhead DID graduate. He's the top subject matter expert on Space bridges. He WANTED to be an S.B tech as far as I know." Jazz replied coolly, not feeling sure the red front-liner was entirely justified in his scorn.

"Yea, well that may be, but it don't mean he's not still the clumsiest thing to come offa the energon farms. And that Bumblebee! Man, if I had a cube o' energon for every time that glitch got us all transform-up detail, I'd be richer than a tower mech."

"I don't suppose Sentinel is too happy about visiting his old drop-outs then?" Brawn drawled, still rubbing faintly at his helm, though the pain was slowly fading to a very dull ache.

Jazz pulled another crooked smile.

"Earth's never really been S.P's scene. First time we landed he got his body stolen by some organic kid, and Optimus had to save his skid-plates. And S.P never really sees eye-to-optic with the locals…"

"Wait… did you say organic?" Brawn asked sharply, his processor stabbing a little more forcefully again. Ironhide's optics widened.

Jazz smirked a little, knowingly. Ironhide would never admit to being afraid to any degree, but the look in his optics told Jazz that the Red mech only knew the stories about organics rather than any factual information. And Cybertronian tales of non-Techtronic life forms were wildly different from the earth realities Jazz knew.

But he wasn't about to spoil his own fun by letting them KNOW that…

"Oh yea. Place is covered in squishy stuff." he said with a broad smile, wishing he had Prowl there to share his joke with.

The other two gave each other startled looking glances.

"Is it BIG squishy stuff? As in, the kind you can't incinerate if it looks at'cha the wrong way?" Ironhide asked, as if wondering whether he should walk around with his armour plating activated the whole time.

"Well, no, not all of it is. The Big stuff doesn't move, it's just vegetation. It's the little ones ya gotta watch out for."

Jazz would have to rope in that organic girl that hung out with Bumblebee to play a little joke on these bots once they arrived. It would serve Ironhide right especially… Bulkhead and Bumblebee may not have been Elite Guard material yet, but it wasn't like Sentinel was the best drill sergeant to bring out a bot's finer qualities, and Jazz knew the sub-compact scout was progressing well over time, he could give it another go. And Bulkhead, well… he didn't really NEED much more training, he worked fine the way he worked. And once these two saw them in action, they might actually show them a little more respect…

Well, so long as Bumblebee didn't do something stupid, but hopefully Prowl could reign him in.

"How far are we from this squishy-sphere?" Ironhide asked with a dreading tone.

"Aw, why'd ya have to ask me that? Now I have to go back to the bridge to find out, and that means listenin' to S.P moanin' again." Jazz heaved a sigh through his vents as he turned to go back to the control centre to find out how long it would be until he could escape his commander's bad mood.

When he got there however, it was not the blue and yellow Prime's aggravation he had to endure. As he sat in his usual seat, a hailing frequency alert came through and he automatically punched it up onto the main screen.

It was Longarm Prime, head of intelligence… looking both alarmed and angry, not something Jazz thought was usual for the well-spoken Prime.

"Sentinel Prime, what are you doing in the earth sector? Return to Cybertron immediately!"

"All due respect Longarm, but I'm acting on Ultra Magnus' orders. It's not like I want to be going anywhere near that planet." Sentinel drawled back, the other Primes tone not doing anything to improve his mood.

"I don't care! I explicitly ordered all contact with Earth to be filtered through me. As chief of Autobot Intel, why was I not informed of this?"

"My apologies, Longarm Prime." Ultra Magnus' voice came through as he joined the conversation, his vid-feed sliding onto the screen beside the rather irate Longarm. "But we didn't want to risk tipping these Decepticons off. I ordered Sentinel and his crew to follow them and prevent them making contact with other more dangerous Decepticons in that area. They may even lead us to capturing some of Megatrons top lieutenants."

Jazz was distracted as his console lit up, beeping madly.

"Only they ain't headed for the other 'Cons sir… tracking just got a hold on 'em again. They're sittin' tight near the Autobots base." Jazz explained, his spark sinking slightly… he could only hope they WERE sitting tight and not wreaking havoc.

"Has Optimus Prime or any of his crew made contact with you?" Longarm asked, slightly calmer, but still sounding peeved.

"No one's heard word one from those goof bots in nearly a decacycle." Sentinel drawled, but he sounded a little calmer being able to get in a jibe at Optimus' expense.

"Course it's kinda hard to get a signal through to earth with all this moisture in the atmo'." Jazz added, taking up some of Sentinels aggravation as he was forced to bite back his own retorts against his commander.

"I'm sure Optimus Prime and his bots are already on top of the situation." Ultra Magnus said assuredly. Jazz was glad that at least their high commander had the processor-chips to judge a bot by his own opinions rather than those of others.

I hope he ' s right though …  knowing what those  ' Cons did to Rodimus '  team …  I just hope we get there before they try anything on Optimus and his crew.

Hey Jazz, you gonna tell us how far we got left to go or are we gunna make it into a guessing game?

Ironhide drawled exasperatedly through Jazz's comm. Link.

Sorry  ' Hide. Had the head honchos on the horn. Stay cool, we ' re only three quarters of a cycle off from arrival.

Good. I can ' t wait to get my hands on those slaggin ' ' Cons and pay em '  back.

Ironhide replied, sounding satisfied that the wait would not be long.

Yea, can't blame ya. Just don't argue with any of Sentinels orders when we get there, dig? Last thing I need is his bad mood gettin' any worse. Jazz replied with a sideways glance under his visor at the still surly looking Blue and yellow Prime.

"Wait… take that back a second, what did she say?"

Ratchet ran the footage back a few astroseconds before replaying the bit which seemed to interest Optimus.

"You're gonna chip your paint if you don't quit that." Ratchet grumbled at him as Optimus scratched distractedly at a crease in his side armour. With a concerted effort he stopped with a mumbled apology, trying his best to ignore the dead rust flakes still setting off the sensors under his armour.

Ratchet replayed the vid-file and Optimus turned up the volume a little.

The femme's voice came through loud and clear, discussing how they were going to get their offline captives back to their ship.

"There! She mentioned water." Optimus pointed out, and Ratchet paused the file again.

"You're right… and they were talking about getting us through it… which either means they landed somewhere across an expanse of deep water or in it." Ratchet mused, frowning as he tried to run the most likely landing sites through his CPU with this information.

Optimus put a digit to the side of his left audio and activated his long-range comm. Link.

Prowl, Bulkhead, we have a lead on the possible whereabouts of the Decepticon ' s ship. Their leader mentioned getting through water and it sounded like they meant a  lot  of it.

Bulkhead, you search the area underwater near where we first landed, it ' s possible they were on the same telemetry as we were when we first crashed.

Prowl, you search Dinobot island, see if Grimlock or the other Dinobots have seen anything unusual.

On it, Prime. Came back two simultaneous replies.

"I'm going to go and help Bulkhead, there's a lot of empty space in that lake, he'll be there for megacycles if he searches it alone." Optimus said, giving the monitor screens a quick sweep of his Optics in case some other small clue jumped into sight at any moment.

"I'll stay here and watch the monitors for anything and keep trying to find a way through to the Elite Guard if I can, but there's not much more I can do short of seeing if any of them are within comm. Link frequency." Ratchet answered.

"Oh, so you're happy to ignore us when we're hailing YOUR frequency, but as soon as things start to get too hot for you chumps to handle you decide you want our help after all?"

Ratchet and Prime turned, stunned, to find Sentinel Prime and Jazz strolling into the base.

"So, you bots been ignoring me all this time? Or are you just too busy cosying up to organics to pick up a comm. Link?"

"We lost Teletran one and all communication with Cybertron after our battles with-" Optimus started levelly, not willing to get on Sentinel's bad side since right now him and his team were exactly what they needed…

"I've got more important things to do than listen to your excuses Optimus. We're in hot pursuit of a team of rogue Decepticons, last tracked heading this way." Sentinel said, chest plate thrown forward imperiously.

"Where's the rest of your team? It's a bad scene out there with those 'Cons runnin' around." Jazz said, serious concern under-toning his usual coolness.

"They're out there looking for those Decepticons. We've already had an encounter with them… I'm afraid it didn't end well." Optimus explained darkly.

"We're lucky they didn't get us all, if it wasn't for Bumblebee…"

"Any time that glitch is involved you're lucky to escape without a building falling on top of you, let alone anything the Decepticons would do to you." Sentinel guffawed, cutting across Ratchet.

"Actually, Sentinel, it's because of Bumblebee that we aren't ALL in the captivity of those Decepticons." Optimus said, scowling.

"Whadya mean Optimus?" Jazz asked levelly, cutting off any retort Sentinel might have been likely to blurt out. He was looking surly again, but Jazz could sense the tension of the other Prime and the Medic and decided it wasn't a good idea to let the situation explode.

Optimus and Ratchet gave each other a meaningful look.

"You should probably see for yourself." Ratchet muttered, turning back to the monitor console, bringing up the vid-file.

Sentinel and Jazz approached the monitors, Sentinel curious despite himself and Jazz apprehensive.

"This is a recording of our encounter with the Decepticons… they confronted us in the park on the outer limits of the city. You'll… well, you'll see for yourself what they wanted."

The two Elite Guards stood, watching the footage intently, optics narrowing as the 'Cons detailed their plans.

When Optimus and his team arrived on the scene, Sentinel sneered, and was quick to make jibes and criticisms at their expense.

Jazz merely seemed to grow more sombre the longer he watched, as though he had already sensed where it was heading.

Sure enough, even Sentinel winced with his second in command as they watched Optimus suffer the same fate as Rodimus Prime had.

Jazz shook his head slightly as Prowl remained standing, still trying to fend off the 'Cons on his own, but it was (as it seemed Prowl had realised) a futile effort, and once the Decepticons ganged up, Prowl was out for the count as well.

What happened next had both Sentinel and Jazz standing with the same open mouthed, astonished expression… if the situation hadn't been so dire, Optimus might have found it funny.

Neither mech spoke as they witnessed Bumblebee's solo attack on all five Decepticons. It wasn't the fact that he attacked them alone that shocked them… it was the fact that he was actually holding his own against them.

But Jazz knew there was no way it could last… he knew Bumblebee wasn't as big a failure as Sentinel painted him, but neither was the yellow sub-compact elite-guard standard yet. Even though he knew at that very nanoklik the scout was in Decepticon servos, he found himself praying the Bumblebee on screen would somehow escape.

As it was, the moment the Decepticons began threatening his offline team-mates, Bumblebee's attack fell to pieces. He became rash and impulsive, as was his nature, and it was too easy for the 'Cons to close in.

"What in Primus' name was he thinking?" Sentinel ground out harshly, optics gazing intensely at the yellow mech as he staggered to his pedes and challenged the Decepticons from whom there was obviously no escape.

But Jazz, with a soft hiss of his intakes, realised what the scout's plan had been all along.

"He sacrificed himself, didn't he? Made them leave the rest of you…"

Jazz's question was answered by the vid-file… Bumblebee was pinned down painfully by the purple jet's energy scimitar and knocked out with a hit to the head.

The Decepticon's leader ordered them to leave the rest and just take the scout… apparently he was sufficient for their needs.

There were a few moments of disbelieving silence once the vid-file cut out.

Sentinel broke it angrily.

"You can't honestly think I'm going to believe this isn't some kind of joke Optimus. No way in PIT did Bumblebee manage to hold out that long against five Decepticons on his own. When Ultra Magnus finds out you're spending your time down here pulling pranks-"

"Sentinel! This is no joke, they have Bumblebee, and we need to find them befor-"

Prime… come in, I'm under attack, repeat, I am under att-…

All four mechs jumped at the brief message that had issued from the monitor console. Optimus hastily leant over the communications unit and pressed the hailing frequency to answer Prowl's worryingly short distress call.

"Prowl, this is Optimus, come in Prowl! Where are you? What's your status?"

Only static replied to his hails. Optimus felt his tank churn with dread.

"We gotta get out there and find those 'Cons before they pick every one of us off." Jazz said seriously.

"Well lets not sit here with our pistons in our servos! Come on!" Sentinel growled, before changing to vehicle mode and roaring out of the room.

Jazz followed suit.

"Ratchet, stay on the monitors and contact us if you pick up anything on the city wide surveillance."

Ratchet nodded to Optimus before the red and blue mech leapt after the Elite guards, changing to vehicle mode mid sprint.

Tell me you brought back-up Sentinel…

DUH Optimus, I'm not as incompetent as  you.  Ironhide and Brawn are already out searching for the Decepticons, as well as two new recruits we've brought from Cybertron. Now are you going to explain to me why your Ninja-bot's signal came from slagging  Dinobot island  of all places, or am I just gunna have to chalk it up to your usual incompetence at managing your team?

Jazz was glad he was between the two Primes… he was starting to wonder who was going to throw the first punch this cycle given his boss' obnoxious mood and the evident stress Optimus and the rest of his team were under.

With a disgruntled rumble of his engine, Optimus answered.

We were reviewing the surveillance of the attack before you arrived, we picked up a clue from something the femme-bot said-

Hey yea, she mentioned something' about haulin y'all through water huh? Jazz cut in, having taken note of much of what the Decepticons had said in the recording.

Yes, and when I realised that, I sent Bulkhead to search the bay area near where we landed. I sent Prowl to dinobot island because he's about the only one of us that could ask the dinobots if they've seen anything without them trying to tear him apart.

Looks like some-bot else is trying to tear him apart instead.

I'll contact the others and tell them to rendezvous with us on the docks. If your ninja-bot has found those 'Cons, then we'll need all the backup we can get to save his and that Bumbling scout's afts.

Sentinel drawled snidely.

Optimus' engine gave an aggressive rumble.

Stay cool Optimus. We'll get em' back. Trust me, with all the bots we got on hand, those 'Cons won't know what hit 'em. Jazz said calmly, diffusing the situation before it could escalate any further. Not that he would mind if Optimus delivered Sentinel a well earned circuit breaker of a punch, but it was more important that they work together at the moment rather than sort out their personal issues with one another.

Optimus called Bulkhead, and by the time the two Primes and lieutenant arrived on the shore of the bay, five other mechs were already waiting for them.

Bulkhead was already conversing with one of the mechs that appeared to be Sentinel's backup.

"Look alive cogs, we've got a Decepticon threat to annihilate and some space-bridge grunts to save." Sentinel barked as he transformed with a sneer.

"Optimus, this is Ironhide and Brawn, they were on Rodimus' team and volunteered to pursue the Decepticons with us. These other two are the new recruits, Jetstorm and Jetfire. I should probably mention that those cats are flying Autobots by the way. Guys, this is Optimus Prime, he heads the earth base." Jazz explained, taking on the duty of introductions.

Optimus seemed genuinely curious about the new recruits' ability, but his interest was buried beneath the tense worry that dominated his processor.

He gave the newly introduced soldiers a curt nod.

"I'm guessing you all know Bulkhead now, ya seemed to be familiar from what we could see drivin' up here…" Jazz queried.

Brawn, Jetstorm and Jetfire all nodded. Ironhide didn't need to say anything, he'd known Bulkhead before anyone else there had met him. He still hadn't been able to gauge if the mech had changed any or if he was still the same big, clumsy idiot from boot camp. What he did know for certain was Bulkhead was exceptionally distressed over his small yellow companion's capture.

"What's going on Prime? Where's Prowl?" Bulkhead asked anxiously, fearing the worst.

"We received a distress call from him about four breems ago, we think he may have come across the Decepticons again. If they're on Dinobot Island, we may be able to enlist Grimlock and the other dinobots to fight with us-"

"Are you out of your processor Optimus? Ask those hulking micro-chip brained idiots for help? They're more likely to set US on fire!"

"That for me is no problem Sentinel prime sir." The orange flying Autobot piped up cheerily before giving his blue partner a high-five.

"Mute it cogs, or you'll be cleaning the flagship from nosecone to thrusters right after we've sorted out this mess."

That threat from the tetchy Prime shut the two up and sapped their jauntiness.

Jazz shook his head, but Optimus could just see the amused smile that had crept onto his faceplate.

"It's all a matter of how you phrase your request. If Grimlock thinks it's in his best interest to attack the Decepticons, and if he feels they're insulting him personally, then he'll at least make a very useful distraction. And whatever he does the other two follow, it's really not that hard." Optimus said coolly.

"Whatever, let's just get over there." Sentinel grumbled, surlier than ever.

"I got us a ship Prime, I guessed since we were meeting on the docks that you wanted to get across the water." Bulkhead explained, walking over to a large tanker further down the pier.

"Good thinking Bulkhead. Let's get over there as fast as we can. We can do some sensor sweeps along the bay on the way, we might pick up a signal from the bottom if the Decepticon's ship is somewhere down there."

Optimus said, following the large green mech, Ironhide and Brawn falling into step behind them.

"Jetstorm, Jetfire, fly on ahead and look for Prowl. If he needs backup, do whatcha do best n' help him out, dig? Otherwise, radio us if ya find anything." Jazz said to the two flying auto bots.

"Sir, yes sir!" They replied in unison with a salute, before changing into their jet modes and zooming off with a roar of thrusters towards the island just visible across the great expanse of water.

Sentinel watched them go with what seemed to be a calculating look, before he and Jazz followed the others onto the tanker and they set off across the bay.

Jazz and Bulkhead worked on the depth sensory sweeps along the way, but the sheer mass of water was difficult for their low power detectors to get more than a weak signal, and they drew a blank.

They were about ten minutes away when Sentinel got a ping on his comm. Link.

Sentinel Prime sir, this is Jetstorm reporting.

'Go ahead' Sentinel comm.'d back, making sure to make his end of the communication audible, but not Jetstorms. Optimus stood to attention immediately, on edge and obviously anxious for news on his team-mate. He glared at Sentinel when he realised the other Prime was deliberately taunting him by only letting him hear half of the conversation. Sentinel smirked.

We have located cycle-motor Prowl. He is being offline sir, but we are not finding any Decepticon signals nearby. Cycle-motor has been damaged, but we are not knowing why the Decepticons are leaving him here.

'Never mind Jetstorm. You and Jetfire keep up the sweeps, we'll be there in a quarter of a cycle. I'm guessing, since none of this is making any sense, that this is just another of these repair bot's stunts' Sentinel drawled, smirk widening as he saw Optimus' optics narrow and his servos clench into fists.

The comm. Link was cut with a slightly confused 'yes sir'.

"Have they found Prowl?" Optimus asked, trying to keep his voice calm as he fought the urge to shove the arrogant Blue and yellow mech overboard.

"Yea. Out cold. No Decepticons in sight. Who'd a thunk it?" Sentinel clipped snidely.

"Did they say if he was badly damaged?" Jazz asked from the side of the tanker where he and Bulkhead crouched with their scanning equipment held out over the railing, blipping steadily and softly.

"Nothing spark threatening." Sentinel replied, sounding bored.

Optimus didn't say anything else the whole way there. Mostly because he was afraid he might actually lose his temper at Sentinel, and this was not the time for it.

He would have contacted Ratchet and asked that he monitor the area they were in, but out here there was no surveillance, save for satellite, and they couldn't risk piggybacking one of those signals in case the Decepticons detected it, in which case it would be made useless.

When they landed, Optimus sought Prowl's energy signature and headed towards it before Sentinel could comment or make any more orders or demands.

Sentinel seemed content to let him lead, as it meant that any encounter they may have with the Dinobots would leave Optimus their first target given he was leading.

Sentinel was even a little disappointed when they reached Prowl and hadn't come across the archaic minded metallic beasts.

Jetstorm was kneeling by the black offline form. Prowl still hadn't fixed his paint after Ratchet repaired him. He'd been emphatic that finding Bumblebee was more important and he could worry about it later.

Ratchet had argued about the probability of rust and surface damage he'd have to fix later, but Prowl had won with the argument that at least with his chassis mostly black his stealth capabilities would be improved.

Optimus and Jazz knelt on Prowl's other side, inspecting the fresh damage. Optimus doubted a fresh coat of paint would have stopped the surface damage that had been inflicted now… there were multiple dents in his armour and one large, painful looking hole burnt into one of his shoulders. Optimus would have blamed Prometheus Black for the injury that had all the tell tale marks of an acid inflicted wound, but 'Meltdown' had the perfect alibi… he was still in prison. So who WAS responsible for this? Had it actually been Decepticons?

Optimus, surprisingly, didn't have to wait long for his answer. Prowl began to stir. With a quiet noise of discomfort, he booted up and his optics slowly came online.

"Prime?… What… happen-nnngh…"

Prowl had tried to sit up and was painfully reminded of the acid hole in his right shoulder.

"Easy Prowl. We're as in the dark about that as you." Jazz replied calmly, Bracing Prowl's good shoulder as he insisted on sitting up.

Prowl flexed his servos and frowned, looking down at his left. He raised it to his optics with a puzzled look, holding a data-chip.

"What's that?" Optimus asked, non-plused.

"I… don't know… wait…" His visor brightened as his memory files refreshed, "I remember now… that Decepticon motorcycle, he was the one who attacked me… he said something about…a postcard?"

Jazz and Optimus glanced at each other with confused, slightly worried expressions, but then back at Prowl as he gasped. Prowl wasn't looking at either of them, but he seemed ready to purge his tank.

"A Postcard from our yellow friend." He re-iterated, holding the data-chip away from him like it was infected with cosmic-rust.

"Wow. Really? That's great. Well, there's no Decepticons here, so if you bots are done pulling lame stunts, I'm heading back to the mainland to keep doing some real work." Sentinel quipped from where he'd been leaning against a tree.

Optimus didn't miss the scowl that passed Jazz's features for a moment before they smoothed again. It was clear even those best at dealing with the blue and yellow prime were pushed beyond their limits by him sometimes.

"So… this is being a joke?" Jetstorm asked, sounding exceptionally confused. "I am not finding it funny."

"Me neither dawg." Jazz sighed, shaking his helm and helping Prowl to his feet.

Optimus was about to comm. Ratchet and let him know Prowl's status, but the roar of jet engines deafened them momentarily as the orange recruit came racing out of the sky.

"Incoming!" He yelled as he transformed and landed, facing the trees he had just flown over.

"Brother, I cannot be stopping all three coming on my own-" He started to try and explain to his Blue counterpart, but then a very loud crashing interrupted him, and the trees at the edge of the clearing gave almighty shrieks and groans as three metal monsters crushed and snapped the thick trunks like mere twigs.

The Dinobots came stampeding into the clearing. But before either of the Autobot Jets could begin to initiate defensive manoeuvres, the three rampaging monoliths skidded to a halt (or landed in swoop's case) in front of Prowl, who was still leaning heavily on Jazz.

"Swoop tell me Grimlock that Prowl in trouble, so me Grimlock come to help." The Tyrannosaur at the head of the trio stated.

Prowl looked up at him with some surprise for a moment, mouth slightly agape.

"Oh… thankyou, Grimlock… but I'm afraid you're a little late. The Decepticon who attacked me is long gone."

"You and the other Dinobots wouldn't happen to have seen any strange mechs or crashing ships recently would you Grimlock?" Optimus broke in hastily, hoping to make use of the usually ornery beast's suddenly helpful mood.

The Tyrannosaurus turned his angular head and ice-blue optics on Optimus, considering his question a moment to make sure it was neither threatening nor insulting, and then answered with a shake of his head, the other two following suit.

"Me Grimlock not see any strange bots except them-" he threw his head at the other Autobots whom had come with the elite guard, "… Swoop only tell me Grimlock that Prowl was alone and hurt. Me Grimlock want to know who hurt him Prowl, so me Grimlock can destroy nasty robot! Nobody hurt me Grimlock's friends!" The mech roared imperiously.

Prowl seemed almost embarrassed by the Dinobot's sudden loyalty. Not that it was unwarranted, after all, if it wasn't for Prowl the three large mechs would have been offlined megacycles ago.

"Well, you could always help us look for the Decepticons. They've already attacked us twice now." Prowl said softly, putting his repour with the dinobot leader to good use.

Grimlock turned his icy optics on him again. "OK. Me Grimlock help puny Autobots find nasty robots that hurt Prowl. But only because me Grimlock want to." The huge mech stated imperiously.

Optimus gave him a nod in acknowledgement of his help and Sentinel gave a 'tch' in the background somewhere but made no comment.

Grimlock crashed back off into the trees with the other two dinobots at his heels, but this time heading for the perimeter of the island, apparently to start searching the whole place furiously for the Decepticons.

"Come on, let's get back to base. We'll need to… review the data they left with Prowl." Optimus said awkwardly. No one else said anything. It was clear every one of them was apprehensive about the contents of the Decepticon data chip… even Sentinel, though he was not about ready to admit it.

They all headed back to the ship on foot, Sentinel griping about the organic plant life surrounding them as he crashed his way through it, Jazz giving Prowl a squeeze on his good shoulder as he looked more and more irate with the blue and yellow Prime. He never easily tolerated wonton destruction of organic habitats, but there was little he could do about confronting the larger and higher ranking bot in his current condition.

It was a silent trip back to the mainland once they were on the water. Not even Ironhide or Brawn conversed with each other. They shared apprehensive looks, and Ironhide stood by Bulkhead with a servo on the large green wrecker's shoulder. Bulkhead's expression was worse than Prowl's. He didn't dare imagine what he would see on that data-file. He couldn't bear the thought of what those filthy Decepticons were doing to his best friend. And the thought of knowing scared him more than the thought of Megatron returning to hunt them down.

Once on the mainland, it was agreed that they should get back to base as fast as possible. Prowl, being too injured to transform and drive on his own, ended up riding on Optimus' trailer flatbed.

When they reached the plant, Ratchet was waiting outside for them, Optimus having informed him of the events as they walked back to the ship on Dinobot island.

He walked over and helped Prowl back into the plant while the others transformed again and followed.

Sentinel was the only one who seemed bored, and yet he didn't say anything. It seemed even he knew the limit to which his snide remarks could be tolerated in this situation.

He supposed he could understand… even if the video of Bumblebee's solo attack was a hoax, he had no doubt the scout was indeed in Decepticon hands. And despite his low opinion of the worth of Optimus and his crew, he did acknowledge the dire fate of the sub-compact as a serious and unfortunate matter.

Once Ratchet had repaired Prowl to a satisfactory level, they all crowded around him at the monitor console in the main room.

His expression was bitter as he inserted the Decepticon data-chip into an external reader, which he then plugged into the computer. It had a surge failsafe to protect the main systems, in case the Decepticons had implanted a virus in the chip to download and corrupt their codes.

The air was palpably tense as the data-file slowly booted up and opened.

When the image on screen cleared, they found themselves looking at a metal surface.

Almost immediately, a cool, chilling voice filtered through on the audio. The servo-held camera swung around to rest on the face of the bot holding it.

"Hello Autobots. We thought you'd like to know how your companion is enjoying his little vacation on our ship… consider this a postcard… I'm sure he wishes you were here… I suppose we could ask him."

Ratchet gasped as the mech came into focus.

"Oilslick" he ground out, sounding furious.

"You know-" both Primes started, but he cut them off.

"Yea, but I'll explain later…" Ratchet growled. The camera had just fixed on a black and bright yellow mech slumped against a wall.

Bumblebee glared with all the venom he could muster at the mech holding the camera. His servos were cuffed and there was a semi-dried trail of energon that had leaked from his mouth. His armour was dented and the wound in his shoulder caused by the purple jet was still leaking a little oil and energon as well. Ratchet hissed through his vents as the camera got closer and he could see the damage up close, and despite Bumblebee's defiant expression, they could see him shaking a little from stress and fear.

"So Autobot, got anything to say to the folks back home? Make it quick, we've got a lot of fun activities planned for you…"

"Slag off Decepticreep." Bumblebee spat angrily, and to his credit, his vocaliser did not waver.

Suddenly, a cruel pede kicked out and hit Bumblebee upside the head. There were two clangs as the hit connected and then Bumblebee's head smacked against the wall behind and he slipped sideways with a grunt of pain. Those watching flinched and hissed reflexively.

A clawed servo snapped out and caught Bumblebee by the neck, dragging him up against the wall until he was lifted off the floor completely. Bumblebee had shuttered his optics in automatic response to the kick, but he powered them on again to glare at the Decepticon holding him against the hull.

There was a soft laugh somewhere beyond the camera's scope, and a new voice was heard.

Bumblebee's optics flickered to something beyond the mech holding him up.

"I don't think you realise the point of this exercise, Autobot. You probably won't return from this 'holiday' of yours. If you have something to say to your pathetic comrades, this may be your last chance… unless we feel like sending them another progress report, but you may be a little past comprehension by then…"

This statement was followed by more laughs from other unseen 'Cons.

The look in Bumblebees optics turned from defiance to sick apprehension.

"I've decided I hate holidays. Really… I have no objections to going back to fixing space-bridges…" Bumblebee muttered through the pressure on his voice synthesising components.

Ironhide groaned. The words were so typical of the Bumblebee he remembered… apparently he hadn't changed much. But he had to give the kid credit, he did have guts not to be cowering and begging like many other mechs Ironhide had seen in his time (and those had been elite guard members no less).

"Come on, you can do better than that Autobot! Tell them how much fun you're having…"

The motorcycle 'Con suddenly threw Bumblebee towards his other colleges, whirling the camera around with his toss so that it came to rest on the others in what appeared to be a brig cell.

The Jet deftly caught Bumblebee, who gave a short cry of shock from the sudden tossing around.

A moment later though, he was screaming as a clawed digit of the Jet had been stuck into the wound in his shoulder and twisted.

The Decepticons laughed cruelly as fresh energon trickled from the damaged fuel lines and Bumblebee kicked and writhed in pain trying to get away from the digit embedded in his wound.

None of the Autobots watching made a sound. They were frozen stock still by the horrifying footage.

But it was far from over.

The Jet finally removed his claw-like finger and Bumblebee stopped kicking. He was being held up by his bound wrists and hung limply now, his ventilators working overtime. He grunted with the after-pangs of pain in his shoulder.

"See? Aren't you having fun yet Autobot?" crowed a mech they recognised as the weird frog-con… except he was in robot-mode now.

Bumblebee didn't answer. He kept his optics shuttered and tried to ignore them.

When there was no response, the hulking deception moved like lightning. Striding forward, his fisted servo shot out and landed a direct hit on the yellow scouts' chassis.

Bumblebee let out another shout of pain, and onlined his optics to glare at the Decepticons again. The Jet still held him up, but when he continued to refuse to respond, he dropped him and put one of his pedes on the large dent now in the yellow chest armour.

"Now-now Autobot, why so unco-operative? Do we have to keep drawing answers out of you like this?"

He gave Bumblebee a feral, terrifying smile.

And then the seeker activated the jet turbine in his heel.

The scream that left the small mech made those watching the video reel back and make noises of shock and despair. As they watched, unable to tear their optics away, Bumblebee's plating blackened, then fluctuated through a spectrum of colours before it started to turn a dull cherry colour, then bright orange, and finally with a piercing keen from the yellow sub-compact it went white hot and began to melt and distort. That was when the Jet stopped.

Bulkhead, who had run from the room halfway through this sick form of torture, could now be heard somewhere outside purging his tanks.

Nobody could blame him… Bumblebee was his best friend, and Bulkhead had never seen anything this unthinkable done to a mech before, let alone to someone so close to him.

But no-one could bring themselves to stop the vid-file… it was almost as if there was a silent vow amongst those in the room that they had to see out Bumblebee's ordeal for the scout's sake.

Bumblebee had been writhing beneath the 'Con's pede the whole time, but once his chassis armour had had a patch melted on it, he had stilled, shaking violently and grinding his denta against the agony. The sensors under that panel had white hot metal pressed against them now, and it was all he could do to stop crying out even though the flames had relinquished. The metal slowly diminished back to a dull cherry colour, but the Jet took his pede away and leaned down, seemingly to inspect the damage.

He then blew cold air on the metal.

Bumblebee couldn't help the anguished cry that left him as the metal popped and pinged, cooling and contracting faster over the sensory circuits.

The Decepticons laughed at him as he twitched and his ventilations hitched with the pain.

"Pathetic! You think we're even HALF-way done with you Autobot? Screw toying with his friends, we'll get him to beg us yet…" The frog-con declared, walking over as the Jet straightened. He kicked Bumblebee so hard that the smaller mech was thrown across the room into the wall again. Hitting it with another sharp cry before he moaned in a crumpled heap on the floor. The kick had pulled a few tension cables and the 'burn' the Jet had given him ached terribly.

"Not… begging…" he ground out, only just audible.

The frog-con strode over to him again, picked him up and slammed his back against the hull again, pinning him up by the annealed spot on his chest, making him groan and grit his denta again.

"What did you just say scrapheap?" The 'Con hissed.

"I'm… not begging… you for… anything." Bumblebee spat loathingly.

"Is that so? So if I were to do this…" the 'Con drew what looked like a laser scalpel from his subspace and put it to one of Bumblebee's bound arms. Activating the small device, he slowly began cutting through the armour. Bumblebee began to shake a little more violently, wide optics fixed with blank horror on the device as it was applied. His natural urge was to wrench his arm out of the way… but doing that with a laser scalpel only meant increasing the damage to yourself. He had no choice but to hold stock still. When it got through the metal and hit integrating circuitry, Bumblebee gave a yelp but quickly muted his vocaliser. "…you wouldn't ask me to stop?"

The 'Cons' grin was feral. The camera got closer.

Bumblebee shuttered his optics. It was clear all his concentration was on silencing himself.

The 'Con cut a neat tab of metal before turning off the scalpel. Then he dug a claw into the gap left and grasped the tab, ripping it back.

Bumblebee couldn't mute himself. He gave a loud anguished cry. The feeling of tearing circuits was excruciating, even if the wound wasn't as big as the hole in his shoulder joint. He felt wires spark in the open air, but refused to look at the wound.

"Ask me to stop." growled the 'Con as he started on Bumblebee's other arm.

"…No" Bumblebee ground out, Optics still shuttered.

"Ask me to keep going then." the 'Con laughed maniacally.

"No."

"The longer you resist the harder this will be Autobot… you want us to take you apart piece by tiny piece in front of your friends? You gonna make them watch that because you're too proud to beg for mercy? Bigger bots than you have broken down and pleaded much sooner… they weren't stupid, they knew no one was gonna save them, so they let it get done and over with quick. But the longer you hold out, the less likely we are to just let your pathetic spark snuff out. Come on Autobot…" He pinched the new tab and tore it back, but slowly this time. They could see wires strain and snap as another patch of circuitry was revealed. Bumblebee screamed through his still gritted dermal plates.

The other Autobots were vaguely aware of Jetstorm and Jetfire muttering something incomprehensible and leaving. No one stopped them. They, like Bulkhead, were much too young to have ever seen this side of the war, and for a first time, this was particularly confronting.

"They'll…nnngh… they'll get you for this… when they find you… you'll wish you were never sparked." Bumblebee growled, voice positively venomous towards the Decepticon.

The 'Con merely laughed in his face, the others behind him following suit.

"Is that so? After we kicked their sorry afts, what makes you think they would stand a chance? How about, if you're so keen to see em again, we go get one and bring them here, and they can join in the fun?"

"NO!"

The 'Con smiled cruelly.

"Ooooh, you Autobots… you're so predictable it's almost too easy sometimes."

The frog-con suddenly dropped Bumblebee, who slumped with an 'oof' on the floor. The 'Con then drew a strip of metal scrap from his subspace. Normally this might be used for field repairs… quick patch jobs welded onto armour, but he did not intend to repair the damage he had done to the Autobot. He grasped Bumblebee's stasis cuffs and hauled him up again so his pedes couldn't touch the floor. Bumblebee attempted to kick the Decepticon while he thought the bigger mech didn't expect it. He landed a few useless blows before he was hit hard around the faceplate, stilling his movements as his processor reeled. The Decepticon chuckled darkly at his pathetic attempt at a struggle and shoved the strip of scrap metal over the middle of the stasis cuffs before welding it to the wall behind with the torch setting of his little device.

"Here, Spitter, take this… it's my turn."

The voice behind the camera piped up.

Spitter seemed a little disappointed, but apparently he was satisfied that he'd had a good turn with their captive as he obeyed the motorcycle's wishes and took the servo-held camera himself.

Oilslick came into view now as he strode languidly towards their captive, drawing a few things ponderously from sub-space as he did so.

"How about we bring in your ninja friend and torture him in front of you hmmm? I bet THAT would make you beg." he said smoothly, softly, vocals laced with sick mirth.

"Don't…" Bumblebee's optics stared at him, wide and petrified at the very thought.

Prowl shuddered despite himself. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like in Bumblebee's place… and Bumblebee had put himself in that position to spare the rest of them that fate. Had he known that this was what he was in for? Would any of them have guessed just how sickeningly cruel this bunch of Decepticons would be? Would Bumblebee have done it if he'd known?

Prowl's spark ached for the yellow scout as the motorcycle twirled a glass phial between his claws… because he knew Bumblebee would have done it anyway.

"I really wanted to use this on that ninja friend of yours… but I suppose it'll be fun just letting him know that you're going to be taking his punishment for fragging me off."

Oilslick turned his face to the camera with a wicked smirk on his features.

"And you Autobots have that medic of yours to thank for what I'm about to do… if it wasn't for you Ratchet, I wouldn't have lived long enough to concoct this wonderful little corrosive."

All heads turned to the medic momentarily. He said nothing, but his expression was one of devastation. He watched with wide, horrified optics, shaking his head slightly.

'no…' he breathed… he sounded more anguished in that quiet statement than anyone had ever heard him.

Their eyes were drawn irrevocably back to the screen as the 'Con approached Bumblebee, unscrewing the lid on the phial as he went. Bumblebee stared at it apprehensively. He'd had experience with corrosives before, dealing with 'Meltdown'. None of his memories of the incidents were pleasant.

"How do you know Ratchet?" He said hurriedly, apparently trying to stall the 'Con.

He laughed, stopping in front of the scout and looking him over, as if trying to decide what part of him he could hurt most with his little formula.

"Oh, me and the medi-bot go way back… back when I had only just started fighting for the Decepticon cause. I've been in the ranks for stellar cycles, but this was when I first started actual field combat, rather than sitting in a lab making weapons for other's use."

He seemed to decide on a spot and produced a dropper in his other servo, dipping it into his viscous liquid carefully to draw some up as he continued to talk.

"Admittedly I lacked field experience, and one of my weapons backfired… I was caught without an antidote on a field full of rotting shells… and who should come along but the young, warm sparked and naïve Ratchet… he very helpfully assisted me in creating a new batch of antidote on sight. To his credit, he's an exceptionally efficient medic… but a blind fool. He helped the bot who took out most of his comrades. I thought I'd left him for dead, but he somehow swiped some of the antidote himself. That was the end of that as a weapon, but all the same, I lived to create new weapons… and now he can see the fruit of his foolish mistake aaall those vorns ago."

Bumblebee had been so absorbed in the Decepticon's explanation that he hadn't noticed the bot hovering the dropper right over his shoulder wound. But when the acid hit it, he knew it.

Oh did he ever know it.

Bumblebee shrieked as the corrosive burnt raw into his exposed circuits and one of his transformation cogs. The pain was white hot, but just below a level that might send his systems into offline stasis.

"That's slow burn acid Ratchet. Serious damage takes a while, but the corrosion of the sensory units is especially slow… just to make sure he'll keep feeling it. A masterpiece if I do say so myself. Made specially for interrogation, not that he has anything else we need to know in that processor, but it's always good to have test subjects."

"The sick fragger…Oh Primus Bumblebee, I'm sorry." Ratchet muttered, sounding agonised.

None of them had felt so helpless as they did now hearing their smallest comrade cry out through gritted denta as he endured this unthinkable torture.

And the worst part was it wasn't even over. They weren't just going to leave him with a slow burning open wound and the other dully aching injuries… no, these Decepticons were true to their faction's reputation.

"Well, we were hoping you'd beg for yourself, but the next best thing, I suppose, is blackmail." Oilslick said smoothly, raising the other implement he'd taken from his subspace. It was a rod-like device with two prongs on the end and looked almost like an oversized wrench with circuitry.

Prowl let out a soft "Not that…"

He recognised the implement. He had used something similar when he had borrowed mods from Lockdown. This one was smaller, but it seemed to be of the same type.

Oilslick jabbed the prongs just under Bumblebee's chest armour and activated it.

Bumblebee screamed loudly as extra voltage burned through his circuits like fire.

It quickly relinquished, but it left him twitching as false signals hit movement relays with after pangs of pain.

"Want me to find your friends and use my little toys on them?" Oilslick murmured into Bumblebee's faceplate with a sick, twisted grin.

"Nnngh… no…" Bumblebee ground out, vocaliser now laced with static.

The 'Con's grin grew wider.

"Then beg."

"I…don't…" Bumblebee's growling sentence was cut off as he screamed, the shock-rod rammed into his midriff plating again. Oilslick talked into his audio over his own cries.

"I'm going to find that ninja-bot and that medic of yours and I'm going to use this on both of them, and then I'll bring them back, and they can thank you for letting me do it-"

"NO PLEASE! DON'T HURT THEM,AAAAGH- PLEASE!"

The 'Con's triumphant grin and Bumblebee's shouted pleas made them all sick to their tanks.

The shock-rod was removed and they could hear Bumblebee's engine and ventilators stutter, static creeping from his vocaliser as he shook and twitched in his bonds.

"I'm sorry… I didn't quite catch that… so you say you want me to bring them here?"

"NO, please, don't go near them, don't touch them, I'm begging you- AAAAAAGH!"

Bumblebee's pleas were once again interrupted by the shock-rod, but he continued to beg through the agony until his vocaliser shut off and all he could produce was static.

By this point the 'Cons seemed to get bored when he couldn't scream anymore.

Oilslick ramped the power up on his device until Bumblebee shuddered violently and finally offlined, going completely silent, a thick stream of energon trailing sickly from his mouth.

Oilslick turned back to the camera with a cool, calm expression, as though nothing had just happened.

"Hope you Autobots enjoyed the show… you can probably expect another one in the future, so you can look forward to hearing from your loyal little companion again."

He smirked and the vid-file finally cut out.

The control room was deathly silent.

What could any of them say… those who had lost their comrade were finding it difficult enough to accept what had happened to him, and those there to help didn't feel they had the right to voice any opinions right now.

The first to speak was in fact Bulkhead.

He stepped slowly into the room, large frame shaking with suppressed emotion.

"Why did you do it Ratchet?… Why… How could you let that…that THING live?"

A shiver passed through Prowl to hear Bulkheads' voice laced with so much anger and despair.

But he could understand completely.

They all turned to Ratchet, their silent agreement hanging in the air like a thick, palpable cloud.

Ratchet gave Bulkhead an agonised and apologetic gaze.

"It's like he said. I was young. Naïve. I used to have such ideals about life being more sacred than faction… I hadn't thought about the implications of saving mass murderers. It would be a weak excuse to say I never did it again after Oilslick… but that would be an insult to everything Bumblebee is going through right now."

His quiet, drained sounding words seemed to sap all the anger out of Bulkhead. He sat down slowly where he was, looking completely despondent.

"We can't waste time here. We need to go and find him." Prowl growled, fresh anger and determination flaring through him as though he had absorbed what Bulkhead had lost.

Ratchet's head snapped around to him with a stern look in his optics.

"You're right, but you're not going anywhere until I've finished repairing you. I'm not having you go out there with that much circuit damage."

Prowl looked ready to argue, but with a glance at Optimus, he kept his silence and followed Ratchet obediently back to the med-bay.

"Optimus, what primitive scanning equipment have you got I this scrap-house… we're going to be needing all of it to find those Pit-fraggers." Sentinel growled authoritatively.

It was about as close to sympathetically offended as he got. He had, by now, decided that even if this had started out as a hoax, there was no way what was going on now was a joke.

And he wasn't known for backing down when he had 'Cons to chase.

Optimus motioned him to their console, and slowly but surely, they mapped out their search.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee was slow to regain conscious functions.

One of the first of which, unfortunately, was his pain receptors.

He at least had the wherewithal to shut off his vocaliser before he could let out a moan against the agony.

He critically assessed his damage as his non-essential functions began to boot-up. His optics remained offline… as if in keeping them that way he could almost believe his quick recall memory log was malfunctioning and he wasn't still in Decepticon captivity.

A searing fire in his shoulder told him the acid that had been applied was still burning slowly over his sensors. The general ache from the same vicinity reminded him there was still a gaping hole in his shoulder joint, not that he'd expected it to magically disappear… it was beyond his self repair systems the moment that energy scabbard had been rammed into him… let alone the subsequent clawing through it by the Jet.

The thought made his tanks churn, so he concentrated on figuring out all his other injuries.

The patch of metal just under his chassis that had been slow-melted by the Jet's afterburner was now a twinging, itching, searing bunch of sensory nodes. The metal had settled, cooled and contracted in an exceptionally uncomfortable manner against the circuits underneath. Any small movement set it on edge.

His arms stung where the frog-con had cut through his armour and torn wires and circuits, and he lost count of all the dents that surely littered his frame.

Bumblebee decided he would brave onlining his optics, and as they powered up, he cast them around the dank cell.

It was dark, and he was still suspended against one of the walls by the stasis cuffs welded there.

He moved a little, to test the strength of the weld. When his motions caused a sickening wave of pain to rush through his circuits, he realised that even if it was not a strong join, he couldn't move enough to break it without possibly causing himself to go into stasis from the agony.

He ventilated a hopeless sigh, something in his systems rattling unpleasantly with the movement of air through his cooling fans. No doubt something had been knocked out of place, most likely by a kick or a punch.

Bumblebee looked longingly down at the flat slab to his right that was a berth. He guessed the only reason a Decepticon brig would have something even as accommodating as that was probably because they threw their own in here occasionally. Bumblebee allowed himself a groan now. What he wouldn't give to be able to lie down and relieve the ache in his frame just a little.

What had he gotten himself into? A world of pain the likes of which he'd never known (and hoped not to ever again), a sick game of dominance with Decepticons who wanted nothing more than to watch him squirm and hear him scream and beg. Yep, that about summed it up.

But there was a good reason for all this, he reminded himself…

They made a video to send… slag, that's right, that's what they were doing… oh man what is that going to do to them?

Even after he'd been the one to endure the torture, he was more worried about how his friends would handle seeing it than he was about the effects on himself.

Why didn't I tell them I'm ok? That it's worth it… it is worth it… I can take it if it means they're OK… and they'll come to get me, I know they will, and they'll get the Elite Guard, no way can it take much longer than a few joors and I'll be outta here, and Ratchet will fix me up…

A memory rose from Bumblebee's CPU at the thought of Ratchet.

That motorcycle-con… Oilslick, had been saved by Ratchet. A long time ago he'd said.

Bumblebee shuttered his optics a little. He couldn't find it in his spark to feel angry with Ratchet for this. After all, the 'Con himself had called Ratchet young and naïve. Bumblebee knew the sort of mistakes that could be accounted for by sheer inexperience… he'd made enough of them himself.

If anything, he felt bad, because no doubt Ratchet would be blaming himself the moment he saw the recording.

I hope he comes to help rescue me Bumblebee thought, then he can pay that greasy slagger back.

The thought of Ratchet kicking 'Con tailpipe cheered Bumblebee up a little.

He was distracted from his musings when he heard loud voices echo down the hallway outside the cell door (which glowed with activated energy bars… as if he could even get near them! What a waste of energy, stupid 'Cons). The sound got louder and closer, until a huge shadow loomed towards the doorway. It was not moving at all steadily, and as the massive form of Blackout came to stand at the cell door, Bumblebee realised why.

He could smell the high-grade on the 'Cons. For Blackout was not alone. Spitter had come with him.

They deactivated the energy bars and stepped into the cell.

"So Blackout, whatcha gonna do with your turn?" Spitter slurred as an evil grin spread across his faceplate.

Bumblebee shuddered despite himself.

Primus no, not more…

The light blue optics looked hard into the scrutinising, cold red pinpricks of the giant black 'Con.

Blackout seemed to be having fun deciding, because he too grinned slowly and more wickedly as he swayed slightly on the spot.

He came a little closer to Bumblebee, who tensed, shrinking back into the wall as much as he could.

Blackout put his faceplate right up to Bumblebee's, making no sound. Bumblebee didn't look away, even though the stench of high-grade was nigh on unbearable wafting from the other's fuel intake.

There were no words. The black mech didn't need them. Generally his actions spoke for him. Bumblebee could guess easily that he was telling him this was payback for his initial shorting out of the other's electrical disruption system.

A solid punch to the body speaks volumes in that way.

Bumblebee let out a short cry at the force of the impact. He knew that that one impact alone had shattered a circuit or two… it had cracked the special re-enforced glass of his lower windshield.

The first blow was followed by at least ten more, but none quite as hard.

That isn't to say they didn't hurt. The black Decepticon seemed to know exactly how hard to hit to set off plenty of pain receptors without doing more damage than dents.

Didn't want to spoil the captive so soon, after all.

Bumblebee tried to stifle his cries against the onslaught, but the jarring hits (when they landed, for the over-charged mech's aim was exceptionally poor, and dents now littered the wall as well as him) were messing with his processor. Once or twice he wasn't entirely sure where he was or why he was there, but once the large 'Con seemed to have worked out his ire on Bumblebee, the punches finally ceased.

Bumblebee shuddered in his bonds again as they laughed at the bigger mech's handiwork.

Bumblebee liked to think that it could have been worse… after all, he'd endured plenty of roughhousing from the likes of Starscream… however, he'd never taken so many hits directly to severe wounds like those his last torture session had left him with.

Bumblebee shuttered his optics, the tension cables throughout his frame tensed against the continuing waves of pain the now worsened injuries were setting off.

A particularly severe pang from his shoulder made him online his optics again, gasping.

Spitter had come forward, one of his metallic silver tentacles deployed from his midriff armour and tracing the hole in Bumblebee's shoulder.

He swayed on his pedes too, snickering and smirking with satisfaction as he pressed the tip of his appendage into the wound and dug through Bumblebee's circuits and cogs slowly.

Bumblebee whimpered despite himself… the extra sensitive receptors that had been coated in Oilslick's acid mix were screaming against the 'Con's touch.

And hanging from his servos, bound up off the floor, Bumblebee could not elude the agonising touches.

He writhed and kicked out, but this only seemed to amuse the Decepticons more.

Blackout made a deep rumbling sound with his engine as Bumblebee keened when the metal tentacle was pushed deeper, energon seeping again from the hole.

Bumblebee had to repeat his question and answer mantra to himself in his head.

Is this still worth it? Yes it is… of course it is… I can take this, I can, they'll come for me… I just have to take this… Primus I hope it doesn't go on much longer…

Bumblebee offlined his optics and grit his denta. When would they get fed up? When would they go away? Would he offline before that? Would they stop if he did?

Bumblebee kicked out with renewed hate for his tormentors, snarling profanities at them for his pain.

But then something caught his pedes, preventing his struggles and halting his insults. He onlined his optics furiously, only for another shudder to pass through him at the look in the Black mech's optics as they bored into his.

Blackout held both his Pedes, a sick, hungry look in those red orbs as they whirred in and out of focus on the little yellow mech's faceplate.

Bumblebee couldn't pin that look… he didn't like it… pit knew he didn't like it, it sent a horrified lurch through his spark, and he just knew whatever was going through that 'Con's processor, it involved him, and he wouldn't enjoy it.

He still wasn't expecting what came next though.

An unnerving surge rent his frame, originating from the black mech.

And suddenly he was upside-down, his arms released from the de-activated stasis-cuffs, but his pedes still within the giant's steely grip.

Before Bumblebee could even think of fighting back, he was swung around and slammed face down on the metal berth.

"Oho, overcharge got you feelin like that huh Blackie?" Spitter slurred excitedly with a sly cackle.

Blackout's optics narrowed as he landed a precautionary punch on the middle of the yellow Autobot's back. Bumblebee let out a small shout and a groan. The throwing around had jarred his substantial collection of injuries, rendering him too much of a mess to put up much of a fight for the moment.

He couldn't comprehend what was going on…

A sudden realisation came to him. With his servos free, he might be able to…

But when he tried to activate his stingers, the exposed circuitry from the laser scalpel incisions sparked painfully. Well, there went that idea…

Oh Primus, they're going to use an energy lash aren't they? Bumblebee let out an involuntary whimper at the thought. It was the only thing that made sense, given that he had been thrown down on his front, back exposed and hands freed so his shoulder struts evened out and they could better injure them…

"I'm going to make him beg and scream. The rest of you failed. I won't" The deep, raspy vocals of the black giant were mumbled and slurred like his companions', but they carried an edge altogether more sinister.

He was cold, blunt, immoveable. Really, Bumblebee knew even if the mech somehow did make him beg, his pleas would have absolutely no chance of being considered by the Decepticon.

Anticipating some sort of strike across his back, Bumblebee tensed, arms braced against the metal surface beneath him, servos fisted… but as he was yanked back so that his hips hovered at the edge of the berth, he let out a cry when no strike came.

The first touch was much worse.

He felt a servo… digits… digging at the edges of the panel between his legs.

Oh Primus no…what? What is he… no…NO!

Bumblebee scrambled against the berth surface, but another blow to the back had his struggles muted.

The 'Con scratched against the yellow panel before he found the right spot, and pressing it, he slid back the piece of metal, grasping it's edge and pulling so that it warped and couldn't close.

Bumblebee let out a shocked yell.

This isn't happening… this cant be…

He heard a click somewhere behind him and Spitter, somewhere to his left, snickered cruelly.

Bumblebee found himself frozen and shaking with terror. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't, it just wasn't-

There was a predatory growl from Blackout's engine.

Oh Primus please no.

Bumblebee yelled out in agony and horror as the black giant's huge spike was rammed in his small, unprepared port.

None of his torture thus far compared to that one moment of contact.

It was absolute exquisite agony to feel the huge plug rammed into one of his most delicate collections of circuitry, and then forced through the un-lubricated wire-bundles.

Bumblebee shrieked as the spike was forced deeper.

In absolute and abject horror, Bumblebee thrashed, scrambling against the berth, servos clawing at the smooth metal surface, legs flailing, trying to kick his assailant away, back arching to try and extricate the intrusion to his valve.

But it was a pathetic and loosing battle. Even using all the strength he had left in his abused frame, Bumblebee's struggles were muted by the crushing pressure of a single servo pressed against the small of his back.

And then the thrusting began.

Bumblebee no longer cared how loudly he screamed or what he said, or how pathetic he seemed, struggling fruitlessly against the huge mech… all he knew was he wanted it to stop, for that huge cord to be out of him instead of scratching agonisingly against the walls of his valve, damaging delicate wiring callously.

"STOP! STOP! AAAGH NO, PLEASE… DON'T… GET OUT.. GET OFF, PLEASE, NO MORE! NGAAAA NOOO! STOOOOP!"

Bumblebee keened in horrified devastation as the thrusts became rougher, accompanied by a low, cruel laugh and Spitters cackling.

Bumblebee clawed the berth relentlessly against the pain, his processor nearly crashing from the overload of signals and the very thought of what was being done…

Never… he'd never expected anything like this… his worst nightmares had never even stretched to anything this bad…

Bumblebee whimpered loudly as he felt something warm dripping from his port. It eased the pain of the friction from the Decepticon's huge spike, which was stretching him as it was. But it wasn't his body lubricating. He could feel the ruptured energon line inside his stinging valve, and the bright pink sustaining fluid was coating the invading cable, dripping from his port and down the inside of one of Bumblebee's legs.

Bumblebee was still kicking, but the large Black mech, with a grunt of irritation at his squirming, spread his own legs and slammed them against Bumblebee's, pinning the yellow thighs against the berth edge. Bumblebee yelled and whimpered, vocals laced heavily with static now.

He realised suddenly he was saying the same thing over and over again.

No.

...no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no

He Didn't want to know what was happening anymore. didn't want to think or feel or hurt so badly.

And Blackout wasn't even half-way finished with him yet.

The repeated denial was all Bumblebee could do to fight losing all handle of the situation.

On one hand, he wanted to let his CPU crash. He wanted to not have to feel or think or remember this… but then the thought of what they could do to him without him knowing sickened and terrified him to his very core.

Blackout thrust harder, magnetising the head of his interface cable. It was drawn through the tight sub-compact Autobot's port, and finally clicked into the plug buried within.

Bumblebee let out an alarmed, high pitched keen as he felt the Decepticon plug into him finally.

The data that was rammed into him over the connection was dominating, hateful, spiteful, cruel… Bumblebee felt as if a vicious virus had just slammed into his systems. They reacted badly. His tank churned and lurched violently before he found himself purging onto the berth before him.

The sickly reek of un-processed energon filled his senses along with the stench of the stale high grade coming from the two Decepticons, who were both laughing raucously as he twitched and whimpered.

A massive servo slammed into the back of Bumblebee's helm, pressing his faceplate into the pool of his own purged fluid.

Bumblebee whimpered pathetically, shuttering his optics tightly and keeping his mouth pressed shut as he felt the still warm and partially processed fuel against his pliable metal cheek.

Bumblebee shuddered and whimpered, vocaliser trailing into static as another wave of negative data was flooded into his systems.

If there was one small thing Bumblebee was thankful for in this situation, it was that he was not a virgin. He wasn't sure if he could have handled his first being a violation by a Decepticon. He already felt disgusting as it was, stretched painfully around a mech so full of cruelty and hate and a taste for causing pain in others. Even though the hardline connection that made him feel sick to think of was a one way data-feed, he could tell there was no compassion in the Decepticon's spark… none at all. His begging and pleading was merely entertainment to the bot's twisted processor.

He knew, though he had tried to hide it from these Decepticons for so long, that his fear and terror and horror was echoing back to the black mech through the link as the 'Con's data violated his sensory systems.

And what was more, Bumblebee could feel the 'Con getting off on it. Every time the Decepticon pulsed more data across the connection, Bumblebee felt worse, physically and mentally. He was desperate now, he just wanted that cord out of him, wanted the energy of that cold, sick fragger out of his systems, wanted to curl up in a corner and offline.

The data surges were building a painful negative charge in Bumblebee's circuits, and he could feel the positive sensory data backing up into the 'Con.

As Blackout got nearer to his overload, Bumblebee's cries and whimpers became shorter and harsher. His CPU was delirious with the hateful sensations the 'Con was pouring into him. He felt his very spark quiver in protest in his chassis.

And then the 'Con began to slam spark energy into Bumblebee, making him scream in earnest as the cold, cruel entity hovering at the edge of the connection overwhelmed him,

He was vaguely aware of begging and pleading for it to stop, of his servos pressing painfully hard into the berth as he thrashed, and then the Decepticon overloaded.

Blackout let out a predatory, staticy roar as his frame quivered and pressed Bumblebee's legs harder against the berth edge, crushing the thigh armour slightly.

He drunk up the piercing scream the yellow Autobot released as the negative charge was unleashed onto him, tearing like fire through his sensory grid.

The echoes of the scout's pain and terror and the sound of his scream all intensified the satisfaction of the large black mech's overload.

Bumblebee was consumed with the excruciating shocks that racked his sensor net and stalled his processor.

He wondered in some broken and detached line of code somewhere in his searing CPU if he had offlined and gone to the Pit…. This had to be what it felt like…

He jerked and his scream broke as his vocaliser seized up in protest. His very spark was cringing and railing at the abuse from the other mech's dark core penetrating him so forcefully.

As the unbearable waves of pain slowly began to subside, twinging with aftershocks, Bumblebee collapsed against the berth, shuddering, a series of soft clicks seeping from his locked up voice synthesiser.

It was the closest thing a bot could do to the human emotion of crying. It was a basic, primal thing that upset sparklings would do.

Bumblebee no longer gave half a damn about his pride though. What use to him was pride now? Would it save him from what he had become? A piece of filthy scrap for these Decepticons to use as they pleased? First for their entertainment and now for their lewd, overcharged desires?

What did he care if he sobbed like a sparkling… he even wished, vehemently, for a moment, that he could leak like Sari did… it would express better the ache that was not leaving his spark… he might at least feel like he was purging something from him, that he was casting the dark and disgusting essence of the 'Con from his tainted body. Not that he hadn't already been made to purge fluids, but not the sort that made him feel any better. He still had his face in the pool of un-processed energon, but he was too weak and pained to raise his head from it.

Bumblebee uttered a few rasps of static as Blackout removed his spike roughly, his weight lifting from Bumblebee's legs. A tiny part of him felt relief when the connection was broken.

"Wow, you were right… he did beg good, I wanna hear him do it again!" Spitter cackled in his still over-charged slur.

Bumblebee would have let out a panicked whine, but his vocaliser still had not recovered.

"Hnmph. I'm done. Like to see you try though." scoffed Blackout with perverse amusement.

"Well… much as I like what I'm seein now… I prefer to take em against the wall." Spitter chuckled darkly, and Bumblebee tensed as he felt servos grab his arms and drag him off the berth sideways.

He struggled weakly, but it didn't make a lick of difference, even to the sloppy grasp of the overcharged frog-con.

Bumblebee's wrists were snapped above his head, his shoulder sparking and protesting as he was locked into the stasis cuffs once more.

A clawed servo grasped his chin and forced him to look at Spitter, who was grinning sadistically.

Bumblebee offlined his optics. He didn't want to see what was happening to him… what was going to be done…

Nononono not again, Oh Primus, please not again…

Bumblebee's vocaliser unstuck itself with a yelp as he felt something touch his side… it wasn't at all a touch he was expecting. It was soft… almost gentle. His processor came close to crashing again.

He still refused to open his optics. He could smell the stale ventilations of the frog-con leering over him.

The touch was a soft, smooth caress over the side of his abused chest plate. Bumblebee was shaking like mad… this wasn't making sense… it almost felt… nice.

The appendage, whatever it was, slipped into a seam in his side armour and carefully brushed at wires and a few undamaged sensors. Bumblebee let out a whine of protest, because he knew it was the Decepticon touching him and he knew it shouldn't feel good. His body was betraying him! Didn't it know it should feel disgusted?

The frog-con laughed softly but harshly, rasping through his vents from his lust. It was obvious that Blackout's show had warmed his circuits substantially.

"You can't fight me now, Autobot. After all the pain, your sensory grid will lap up all the pleasure it can get when it can get it… even if you don't want it to… you're going to get turned on by a Decepticon… and it's gonna eat you up inside, ain't it?"

Bumblebee didn't reply. He didn't online his optics. He quivered in his bonds and gave a small, trembling whine.

He felt another appendage on the inside of his left knee, and he clamped his legs shut. The 'Con laughed again, seemingly unfazed as he trailed what Bumblebee realised was one of his metal tentacles up the cracked and dented thigh armour.

Bumblebee didn't have the strength left to physically fight the Decepticon as he slid the tentacle between his legs and teased the tip over Bumblebee's recessed cord. Bumblebee shivered as a strong wave of pleasure made him feel sick to his empty tanks.

Then the 'Con trailed it down to Bumblebee's abused valve entrance, where energon continued to seep from his internal damage.

Spitter traced the edge of the opening, smearing the energon, before slowly pressing the tip of the tentacle into the yellow bot, making him whine louder in panicked protest.

Spitter's other appendage was still toying with the wires under the Autobot's chest plate, making him squirm weakly, trying to escape the touches, but unable to stop his body from feeling the pleasure.

The frog-con smirked, massaging the abused walls of the Autobot's port.

Bumblebee broke into disgusted clicking sobs as pleasure exploded from his tender valve walls, where only moments ago he had felt nothing but pain.

The Decepticon was right… this was so wrong, and it felt wrong, and he couldn't believe he was wishing for the pain again, because the very thought of living with the knowledge a Decepticon had made him lubricate made him want to offline. But it couldn't be undone now… he felt sick with himself as his interfacing circuits began to heat at the touches despite his disgust. The 'Con laughed and murmured his approval as the lubricant slowly began to flow through the Autobot's tight little valve. He felt it spasm around his tentacle as the yellow bot let out a fresh wave of sobs.

"Aw come on, I know you like it, there's no point pretending you don't." muttered the 'Con sadistically before he pumped his appendage in and out of Bumblebee slowly.

Bumblebee let out a strangled whine, his squirming slightly more frantic as he tried to wriggle the tentacle out using his thighs.

The 'Con growled lustily before he used his hands to thrust the yellow mech's legs apart.

His tentacles continued to stroke and caress Bumblebee's sensors as his hands set about welding more scraps of metal to the wall, pinning the Autobot's legs apart.

It was an exceptionally satisfying sight to see the completely fettered little mech still squirming to extricate himself from the touches sending unwanted sensations of ecstasy through his abused frame.

Spitter decided it was time to make this even more interesting… and pleasurable for himself.

Un-subspacing his laser scalpel once more, he knelt down (tentacles still working the Autobot's sensors and drawing weak clicking sobs of protest) and began to cut into the yellow and black leg armour.

Bumblebee gave another yelp and finally onlined his optics, starting at the pain signal that had pierced the pleasure and, disturbingly, heightened it.

The Frog-con, to his horror, was cutting into one of his now restrained legs. He knew this game. He knew what that 'Con was going to do once he finished cutting.

He couldn't do anything…

He turned his head to the side, deciding to mute his vocaliser purposefully. They were probably getting off on whatever noises he made.

His optics fell on the berth as his CPU tried to find some distraction from the events he didn't want to be comprehending, let alone experiencing.

He saw long, deep gouges in the smooth metal… gouges his servos had made as he tried to claw his way out of this nightmare. His purged energon still dripped off the edge quietly… it still trickled down his face too, drying slowly, feeling uncomfortable.

But then hardly any part of him didn't feel uncomfortable right now. Especially with that 'Con still working his port, which was dripping with lubricant, stinging the sensors on the damaged energon line within.

Bumblebee's muted vocaliser half onlined in a burst of loud static as the Decepticon pulled back the tab of metal that had been cut into his leg. Wires and circuits sparked in the air again as connections were broken, and directly after the surges of pain, intense surges of pleasure tingled through him, heating his frame and causing his cooling fans to kick in with a tired and damaged sounding rattle and buzz.

"That's more like it. Now it's my turn to hear ya beg…" Spitter growled, apparently satisfied now he had brought Bumblebee's body up to a temperature high enough to trigger his self-cooling systems.

Still pumping Bumblebee with one of his tentacles, he stood and opened the panel covering his own interface circuitry.

Bumblebee offlined his optics again, shaking madly. He knew what was coming now. He dreaded it, and even though he was prepared this time (both mentally and, to his shame, physically) he could not dispel the spark stabbing fear of the sensations to come. The very memory of what it felt like to have Decepticon spark energy violating him made him break down into clicking sobs again, unable this time to mute himself. He Didn't have the strength anymore. He Didn't have the will.

He realised with self loathing and shame and disgust that they had broken him.

He cried out un-restrainedly in pain when the 'Con's large cord replaced the tentacle, which decided instead to tease Bumblebee's recessed spike. Apparently Spitter wasn't done tormenting him with sensations he shouldn't be feeling in relation to a Decepticon.

As Spitter began to thrust, Bumblebee couldn't stop himself pleading once more…

"NNNN-NOOOOOO….STOP, STOP, DON'T DO THIS, GET OUT OF ME, PLEASE JUST STOP, I DON'T WANT THIS, I DON'T, I CAN'T…"

Bumblebee knew it was what the Decepticons wanted… he could hear Blackout laughing derisively somewhere… but he reasoned it wasn't for them… it wasn't even for Primus (who had forsaken him it seemed anyway), it was for himself. It was to prove to himself he still railed against it, that some part of him fought this, however weakly, that he wouldn't just roll over and accept that this should be happening.

"Maybe I should go get that ninja Oilslick hates so much… I bet he'd scream like you. I bet you'd totally get turned on seeing me do this to him huh? Filthy little half-rate pleasure models, the both of you… I bet that's why you're Autobots, neither of you made the grade for the Kaon whore houses…"

Bumblebee shuddered in repulsion. Apparently Spitter liked to talk dirty when he interfaced.

Bumblebee was still anticipating with terror the moment he would finally plug in and assail him with his putrid Decepticon spark essence. For the moment the 'Con seemed in it for himself more than to torment his victim… he started to grunt as he rubbed his spike and cable thoroughly around the tight sub-compact's valve, the wet heat of lubricant and energon doing all kinds of things for his overcharged processor.

The Autobot stopped begging and began to yelp with each of his thrusts as they got rougher, and Spitter tried his best to keep from plugging in… apart from satisfying himself with the friction, he wanted to draw out the Autobot's torment for as long as possible.

Eventually, he reached a point where he couldn't take the yellow mech contracting around him deliciously in spasms of pain any longer, and magnetising his spike, he gave an extra hard thrust and made the connection.

Bumblebee was almost relieved when the Decepticon got rough and it stopped feeling at all good. That spike tip kept hitting his damaged energon line, causing him to yelp with every excruciating stab it sent through his sensors. The metallic tentacles stoped their caressing, teasing touches and began to wrap around his chassis, constricting painfully hard, causing his damaged armour to groan.

The 'Con connected with a rough thrust and Bumblebee let himself wail in agony as sickening, stabbing spark energy was slammed into him right away, overwhelming and traumatising his own frantically pulsing spark. He felt suffocated by the tentacles and the relentless onslaught of negative energy, it was as though it might cause his very core to explode and then contract and wither to nothing.

The fervent wish that it would do just that flashed through his disrupted processor.

Even though Bumblebee thought the agony and stress of the invasion would kill him, he couldn't even offline… his emergency protocols simply refused to disengage his consciousness while it felt it was under a critical assault that he should be fighting.

The only fight he was putting up was trying not to scream so loudly that he would permanently damage his vocaliser.

It was a small, nigh on insignificant blessing that the 'Con reached his peak quickly, feeding off the piercing screams and the sound of cracking armour as his tentacles squeezed the yellow chassis hard with his overload.

Bumblebee's screams toned down to a distraught and long keen as the negative energy charge washed through his circuits, causing the broken connections in his injuries to crackle, and his spark to stutter and retreat into itself painfully.

When the charge died, Bumblebee found himself incoherent with an ache that wouldn't abate. While his emergency protocols still prevented him from off lining, his consciousness was not functioning in a linear aware fashion… he was glitching a little in shock. He didn't know this, but it didn't matter to him. All he knew was the two Decepticons remained long enough after Spitter had drawn away to jeer at him and insult him some more before they left him, completely exposed and restrained on the wall, like some sick ornament.

Bumblebee felt lubricant and energon, warm and dripping from his abused port. As his CPU fired off random codes of thought in it's still disrupted state of shock, he remembered Spitters comments.

What if he hadn't saved them? What if they had done this to Prowl, or any of the others.

Bumblebee shuddered and drew in horrified quaking ventilations.

He was taking this treatment so they didn't have to, he remembered… he'd volunteered for this… made his own decision when they couldn't…

But he hadn't even thought…

He still didn't want to think about what had just happened.

Filthy… he felt filthy and weak and wanted nothing more to do with his own body, but he couldn't even escape from the pathetic scrap-pile that was his own chassis.

The question he had been sustaining himself with for the past however many cycles he'd been there (his chronometer had fritzed during the first torture so he had no idea) popped into his head again.

It was a sense of comfort, reminding him he had a purpose here, that it was okay really because it meant his friends were safe. But now the question scared him. It snaked through his mind, biting icily. But he had to ask, he had to know…

Was it worth it to take their place?

Unbidden, a small and broken voice somewhere within his meta immediately said 'no'.

As soon as it did though, Bumblebee felt a fresh wave of self-loathing.

How could he even think that? How could he wish this on anyone? On his friends?

Bumblebee released a fresh wave of loud clicking cries into the empty, uncaring cell.

He asked himself the question again, angrily, in his head.

He didn't say no.

But he couldn't answer it anymore.

He couldn't.

All he could do was quietly sob.

He slumped in his bonds, quivering with the fresh ache that lanced through the rest of his injuries and making them feel worse, spiralling through memories of the past cycle he didn't want to relieve, wishing that when his processor finally shut down into stasis, he wouldn't wake up from it ever again.

"So, you have the parts we need?" The large Decepticon femme boomed in her usual deep, commanding tone.

The black and white face gave her a crooked grin, red optics leering in their own usual fashion.

"Sure do darlin'. They're gonna cost ya though, so ya better detail these mod's you told me about before I decide what I'm willin' to let ya have em for."

Striker sneered with satisfaction.

"You can come and see for yourself. It is probably thanks to you that we acquired them in the first place. One set is a little damaged, nothing some rewiring can't fix. The other is perfectly functional and already unattached. You will have to…do your thing, to obtain the slightly damaged ones, but with their applications it will be worth your time." Spitter expounded as they moved into the bowels of the Decepticon's crashed and submerged ship.

Lockdown seemed perfectly at ease strolling after the large commanding femme. Not that he had anything to fear from Decepticons… if anything he got more respect from the 'Cons than from any other faction or species in the main sectors of the galaxy.

There was, however, a reason he hadn't joined them…

Spitter led him to a cell where the energy bars were activated and keyed in the code, turning them off and leading him in.

Lockdown wondered why they were even bothering wasting energy on activating the bars… it was clear at first sight that their prisoner wasn't going to be attempting an escape. Certainly not while bound to the wall with stasis cuffs and welded strips of metal, and doubtfully even if he weren't.

The Autobot's state was truly pathetic.

Huge dents and rents in his armour sported scratched and flaking paint, coated in both fresh and dried energon. Exposed, broken wires and circuits sparked weakly in the cold, stale air. A massive and sickening hole gaped in the bot's left shoulder, making even Lockdown uneasy to see, and what disturbed him even slightly more was the mech's exposed and obviously abused interfacing unit.

"We have his rocket boosters ready for trade-off, but his-"

"Stingers, yea. I was eyeing em' off the last time we crossed paths. I can see Spitter got to them…" Lockdown walked forward and paused in his examination when the yellow scrap-heap's optics flickered on slightly.

The Autobot scout was exceptionally weak, probably from energon loss, let alone what the 'Cons had done to him… the big blue optics were pale, and shuttered slightly as they focused on him with confused apprehension.

"…damage doesn't look too bad. Gotta admit, for a mech who uses explosive oral fluids as a weapon, he's pretty good at causin' harm without destroying everything." Lockdown commented airily, giving the broken Autobot a piercing gaze before turning back to Striker.

"But I've seen those things in action… cute, but not much more than a novelty item, if I'm gonna be frank."

"Novelty item? He shorted out Blackout's energy disruptor and brought Cyclonus to his knees with those novelty items."

Lockdown gave her a stunned look, turning his head back to scrutinize the restrained sub-compact again. Something seemed to dawn on him.

"Aaaah, I see. Looks like he's been trained up by my old pal a little. Alright then… the two mod sets and 80 credits. The parts are already prepped, I'll get 'em for ya once I've done my thing, as you say…" Lockdown drawled with a good natured sneer.

Spitter seemed to weigh his price before she narrowed her optics and gave him a curt nod, leaving the room in indication that he get to it.

Normally, Lockdown would conduct the removal of mods on his ship, which was equipped with the large array of tools required for pretty much every model of Cybertronian that existed. However, he always kept a 'field kit' for jobs he couldn't get done in his 'extraction room', as he sometimes called it.

And stingers weren't an overly complicated mod to remove.

With a sigh through his vents, Lockdown went about freeing the yellow scout's limbs, before he laid the weak, shaking body on the recently cleaned but gouge-marked berth, studiously ignoring the dim, pale blue optics boring into him.

When the scout was lain on the berth, he keened weakly and clenched his legs shut, watching the bounty hunter with intense fear as he loomed over him.

Lockdown's face was stony and impassive as he straightened, shaking his head.

"I'm not gonna do that to ya kid. That's not my way."

The Autobot seemed to relax infinitesimally, but his optics continued to scrutinise the black and white faceplate, trying to detect some sort of lie.

"But… you…" Bumblebee whispered hoarsely, words laced with static. Clearly they had drawn extended screams from him to get his vocaliser that damaged.

"I'm not a Decepticon for a reason. I call the mods I take trophies, but that's just the ones I keep for myself. The rest is business kid. And I'm not in the business of messin' with sparks. That's low, even to me." Lockdown muttered as he held down one of the smaller bot's unresisting arms and hit the elbow joint with a device that sent a wave of numbness down to the tips of Bumblebee's digits.

Bumblebee said nothing more. He watched in morose and detached silence as Lockdown expertly and efficiently opened up the armour on his forearm, disconnecting neural link circuits that allowed him to transform the limb to the weapon, before cutting the power feeds and extracting the whole stinger unit from his right arm., closing up the armour once he was done.

Bumblebee couldn't find it in him to care. What use were his stingers to him now anyway? Spitter had made it so he couldn't use them, and now… now he didn't bother to dream that he might escape this nightmare before he offlined, if anything he just wanted the end to come sooner and cut his agony short.

As Lockdown leaned across him to get his left arm, his thick digits brushed Bumblebee's midriff plating.

Lockdown reeled back as a screech of feedback left the small bots vocaliser and he curled up on the berth, clutching his midriff and shaking madly.

"What the frag?" Lockdown growled as he moved back to the berth and forced Bumblebee onto his back again, earning him a whimper as he took the smaller mech's servos away form the black plating. Looking closely, he realised with slight horror how badly warped and heat damaged the metal was. He hadn't seen it before because it was still black and blended with the rest of the mech's injured plating, but he had to shake his head as he took up the left arm almost gently and began work once more.

" I heard stories of that kinda treatment back in the wars, but I gotta admit, those seekers can be pretty damn sadistic, and that's comin' from me."

Bumblebee didn't respond. He wasn't even sure why he felt almost at ease in Lockdown's presence… he was still an enemy. Still willing to sell out a bot's personal mods for a quick credit, and enjoy getting the mods to boot, and yet… he was something familiar… and he wasn't trying to hurt him… he'd even used something to locally numb the pain.

Bumblebee wondered a moment… did Lockdown feel sorry for him?

No, Lockdown never felt sorry for anybody, Ratchet had made that crystal clear more than once, and Prowl was well aware himself. So then, why else would he be that considerate?

He looked into Lockdown's red, cold optics… and thought he saw something as they flickered over the melted metal wound again… was that regret?

Wait a nanoklik… was that guilt?

"Why…" was all Bumblebee could utter as he gazed scrutinisingly at the Bounty Hunter's faceplate, frowning.

Lockdown wouldn't meet his optics as he finished extracting the other stinger unit and closed up his arm plating.

He seemed to understand what it was Bumblebee was asking though, but he wouldn't answer. He silently turned, but a weak grasp latching onto his wrist stopped him.

Lockdown looked back, face unreadable, cycling a sigh through his vents.

"I don't really do regret kid, but I deal in equipment and info, and I try not to get caught up in the info stuff. I don't care if I condemn a mech to torture, it's not my problem… but like I said, I'm not much for messin' with sparks. But I ain't psychic, and it ain't personal. You got the rough end of the deal, it's just business kid."

And with that, he walked out, face and attitude as impassive as ever.

Bumblebee's punch-drunk processor tried to make sense of what had been said. Slowly, very slowly, the pieces started to fall into place.

Bumblebee felt his spark quake in fury as it dawned on him.

Information… he sold these Decepticons information, told them to come to earth, TOLD them we'd be here, and they came after us to find out where Megatron was… I'm here because of HIM…

Bumblebee clenched his servos and curled up on his side. Anger and hatred and loathing consumed his spark, and he wished he'd lashed out at Lockdown, made him realise what he'd done, make him feel some kind of regret or remorse… or at least pity him enough to offline him and end this nightmare he'd caused.

Bumblebee came to the realisation that Lockdown was nothing more than a coward… arming himself with so many mods to come out best in fights… declaring his work was just business, not personal, so he could shy away from emotion and the consequences of his actions… running around factionless so he didn't have to stand by any beliefs or get involved in the fighting.

And yet he was trying to act like he had some morals. He didn't have a right to morals, not when all he cared about was himself and where the next payload came from, no matter who's expense it was at.

Having someone to blame this on did little for Bumblebee now though. He could direct his hate towards Lockdown all he wanted, but it wouldn't be acknowledged.

He supposed the bounty hunter had 'said sorry' in his own way by trying not to cause him further pain… but his words still stung with blatant disregard…

Just business…

That was what his pain and violation amounted to.

Just business, kid.

"I'll tow ya to the nearby mines. The mineral deposits will hide you from the Autobots, and you can start your repairs, no point tryin' to do 'em underwater. After that I got other business to attend to in this sector before I head right out again. Don't like spending' more time on this organic mudball than I have to." Lockdown drawled as he handed over the promised parts to Blackout and Spitter, both of whom looked as if they had massive hang-overs.

While Striker ordered the two grumpy, wincing crew members to take the equipment and get to organising the repairs, the other two of their team were allowed some recovery time (the four of them had played a drinking game in celebration of their torture and taunting of the Autobots with their ingenious postcard).

They of course, decided to investigate what their overcharged comrades had done with the yellow mech that night.

They found Bumblebee where Lockdown had left him. He had shuffled into the furthest corner where the berth head met two walls. Curled up over himself, he was trying with frustration and whines of pain to un-warp the yellow panel that usually covered his interfacing array, trying to close it.

When he heard the energy bars shut off again he gave a small panicked whimper and pressed further into the corner, curling his legs into himself to try and protect his exposed and violated circuits and the other deeper injuries, which were concentrated more around his chassis.

Oilslick and the purple jet stepped in, sneering at him.

They had been teased by their badly hung-over comrades, who refused to reveal what horrors they had bestowed upon their captive. Blackout, a mech of few words, had only boasted that he had gotten the yellow mech to beg better and easier than any of them.

Not ones to shy from a challenge, Oilslick and Cyclonus were keen to see what state the Autobot had been reduced to. He was a stubborn little fragger, they had to give him that. But to have him beg so easily, Blackout must have done some pretty serious damage.

The bounty hunter hadn't said anything, so the scout had to still be alive, but his gaze had been a lot colder and more calculating than usual towards them when he'd retrieved the Autobots' mods as payment.

When Oilslick laid optics on the battered yellow and black form in the corner, it was clear something in the mech had been snapped…. Some crucial part of his processor integral to that naive fighting spirit. But apart from some extra dents, cracks and a fresh open tab in one of the bot's leg armour… Neither Oilslick, nor Cyclonus, could see what could possibly have broken the sub-compact.

Oilslick strode over languidly, half expecting the quivering pile of scrap to lash out at him in some way… but the small mech merely stared at him, absolute cold fear in his optics, an almost animalistic panic deep in the now muted blue.

Oilslick sneered, Cyclonus mirroring his expression from behind as he too came in for a closer inspection.

While Oilslick was concentrated on the prisoner, Cyclonus was looking around the cell for clues. He Didn't have to look far to find them. His sneer widened and crimson optics flashed in understanding.

"I think I know what method that delightfully sick fragger used." He laughed quietly, icy, reverberating vocals sending another shiver through Bumblebee as the cold optics roamed across the dented berth and back to him.

Oilslick took a look at the marks Cyclonus was indicating to and his own lip-plates spread wide.

He settled a hungry gaze upon Bumblebee for a moment, then his large, clawed servos snapped out and grasped Bumblebee's legs, pulling him forward and wrenching them apart.

Bumblebee let out a keen of fear, scrambling onto his elbows, too weak to fight the 'Con's strong grip as his still energon and lubricant smeared interface circuits were beared to the Jet and Motorcycle.

Bumblebee wanted to look away from their knowing, disgusting, sneering faceplates, but he daren't take his optics off them out of pure terror. He Didn't want to know what they were going to do to him, didn't want to see it coming… but couldn't stand to look away, couldn't stand letting his guard down, just couldn't surrender his awareness… of everything.

"What do you reckon? We try Blackout's highly refined method?" Oilslick sneered to his companion.

The jet's lip curled in distain. "You can have him, but I wouldn't be sticking my cable where Blackout and Spitter have been." He drawled haughtily.

Oilslick sniggered. "Good point… maybe I can find a clean port to interface with…"

Bumblebee shook violently, shaking his helm with a muted noise of refusal, knowing as soon as the 'Con looked into his faceplate what he was going to do.

Bumblebee was dragged off the berth by his pedes, the back of his helm hitting the floor hard as he yelped, but despite his dizziness and his optics offlining automatically for a few astroseconds, he squirmed and struggled.

Before he knew it, Oilslick had broken the weld over the stasis cuffs on the wall and brought them back down on his wrists, securing them behind him as Cyclonus helped subdue his weak thrashes.

When Bumblebee finally managed to online his optics again, he found that Oilslick had unsubspaced his shock-rod again. He let out a short keen in alarm. The Motorcycles' lip-plates curled into a wide, wicked grin.

He grabbed Bumblebee by the neck cables and held him up on his knees.

"Hmmm. Think it's worth making another postcard of this?" Oilslick asked airily, as though they were speculating about the weather.

Cyclonus let out a small 'Tch'.

"I'm not featuring in any recording of you Interfacing with anything. Not even as the camera-bot." He snarled with distain.

Oilslick shrugged with a chuckle. "Suit yourself, Deceptiprude."

The Jet crossed his arms coolly. "Not wanting to soil myself on an Autobot is hardly prudish. If I wanted to Interface with a filthy scrapheap, I'd seek out Starscream."

The two shared a hard laugh at the traitorous Decepticon 2IC's expense, before their attention turned back to their captive, who was trembling visibly in Oilslick's grasp.

"I guess I get to make his pain my pleasure then." He sneered.

The three barely noticed or cared about the vibrations that had started up around them as the ship was half powered up and Lockdown began towing them out of the deep water of the lake.

Prime! I'm picking up a signal… I think… I think it's Bumblebee's comm. Link signature!

Came the sudden and startled report from Prowl.

What? Have you tried contacting it? Where is it? How far from your location? The Prime's surprised yet still anxious reply came through immediately. Prowl opened a general communication line to the rest of the search party as he kept a lock on the faint signal.

I'm searching the waters around Dinobot island, Grimlock and the others are helping me, but the signal is coming from somewhere  over  the water… the signal is too faint to get a direct location lock, but I can try contacting him.

Do it. Came Optimus' short, tense reply.

Bumblebee screamed again, voice crackling loudly with static. When the shock-rod was removed from under his chassis, he was thrown to the floor again, and felt a heavy pede come to rest on his cracked thigh armour.

His CPU was swimming and dizzy with pain that faded slowly. He didn't pay the foot on him any heed… until the Jet ignited his heel thruster again.

Bumblebee's piercing cries of agony reverberated around the cell as he felt the unbearable heat washing through the cracks of the armour. The paint bubbled and blackened, shrivelling away as the metal went through dull grey, to black, to cherry, to orange, until it melted yellow-white hot and Bumblebee keened at the absolute and unbearable pain that radiated off the burning and shorting sensors.

When the Jet finally let up, his processor was so shattered by the signals that it took him a few moments to recognise the other signal he was receiving… it wasn't pain… it was a ping… and once he realised it was there he automatically responded by opening the channel, too dazed to think of the implications or to wonder at it.

Bumblebee! Bumblebee are you there, please respond!

…Prowl?

Prowl's knee joints nearly glitched. He staggered on the beach at the sound of the weakly spoken reply.

Everyone else on the open frequency heard it too.

Bumblebee, thank Primus! Where are you, what's your status?

Is this… is this real? Bumblebee asked, sounding almost scared, as if he daren't even hope…

Yes, yes Bumblebee it's real, your signal suddenly appeared, and it's moving. What's your status, how damaged are you? Prowl tried to keep calm, despite the fact his spark was thrumming hard in his chassis with fear and elation all at once. He knew the others on the comm. Line were holding their ventilations too.

There was a moment of strained silence as Bumblebee processed the reality of the situation… and then his pleading voice came through, sending lances of anguish through every bot that heard the broken tone of the scout.

Get me out of here Prowl, please get me out of here, I can't do this anymore, stop them,  please , I can't do it again, I don't want-

"Something's not right." Oilslick grunted at the vacant look in their captive's optics. Cyclonus narrowed his own and curled his lip.

"His comm. Link! Didn't anyone disable it?" he snarled.

Oilslick grimaced and picked Bumblebee up by the metal collar, snapping him out of his internal communication as he slammed him against the side of the berth, pinning him by the shoulders and bringing his other hand up to dig his clawed digit into the gap between the helm and one of the yellow horns. He broke off the armour, revealing an audio antenna, which he proceeded to twist, earning a few whimpers of protest.

A small screech of feedback filled the Autobot comm. Line, cutting off Bumblebee's pleas after he had given a short burst of static.

Prowl had felt a wave of sick apprehension and a pain in his spark when Bumblebee begged him to save him… and then fury stabbed through him when a new voice invaded the communication frequency.

"Why, look who decided to make a call! Wanted to see how much fun your little friend was having did we?" Oilslick half purred, half growled into Bumblebee's Comm. Unit.

"I am going to hunt every one of you filthy Decepticons down and eviscerate you." Prowl responded on the now open air communiqué. His voice was just above a whisper and cold as ice.

"Oooooh that's you Ninja-bot, isn't it? Now-now, wouldn't go making threats at the moment, what with your friend all vulnerable and in my grasp and you in no position to stop me…"

Bumblebee couldn't help the piercing scream that escaped him as shock-rod was stuck right under his cracked windshield and activated at full power.

They could hear the shouts of at least half a dozen Autobots over the scout's cries.

The overload of negative sensory input glitched Bumblebee's already over-taxed systems. He lost control of a few body regulatory functions. To his own horror, one was his waste fuel tanks.

Processed oil, lubricant, coolant and spent energon spilled across the floor in an unpleasant mix under him as his waste release valves malfunctioned out of his control.

The shock-rod was removed almost immediately and Bumblebee let out a staticy whimper of shame, the Decepticons replying with muted sounds of disgust and dark amusement.

"Oh my, they don't make you Autobots like they used to… one little shock and you wet yourself!" Oilslick barked out with a harsh laugh.

Prowl was calling Bumblebee's name as Ratchet swore blue murder at the 'Cons over the line.

"Prowl… help me… please… get me out… oh primus, please help me, Bulkhead, Ratchet, Prime, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

Their sparks all nearly stopped as one as Bumblebee's anguished sobs were cut off again as he was made to scream with another application of the shock-rod, this time to the fresh heat wound still cooling on his thigh.

He was made to writhe in his own waste fluids. Beyond the agony, all he could consciously feel was shame and disgust with himself, his screaming dissolving into incomprehensible yells and pleas and apologies to his friends, vocal capacitor nearly shorting out with the violent shocks.

"Alright, we've had our fun, terminate the communicator before they can track it"

Cyclonus muttered with a satisfied, even slightly disappointed expression, as though he'd prefer to continue in this fashion for much longer.

Bumblebee, we'll find you! We'll come for you,  hold on…

I'm sorry  …  I'm so sorry Prowl, I'm not strong enough… don't let them do it again, I can't take it agai- AAAAGHHHH!

BUMBLEBEE! BUMBLEBEE ANSWER ME! BUMBLEBEE?

But the cries of pain and screech of feedback and static told him the Decepticons had finally terminated the yellow mech's communicator.

Prowl shuddered and succumbed to his grief, falling to his knees.

No… Bumblebee… how could we… how could I have failed you so completely… how could we let this happen?

A cycle later and they were no closer to finding the Decepticon's ship. While they had picked up Bumblebee's comm. link signal, the Decepticon's ship had somehow remained invisible to their sensors, cloaked or shielded by something. It was infuriating.

When Bumblebee's signal had been terminated though, it was coming from over land, which meant the 'Cons had moved out of the water, but they hadn't been able to pin point the location, the line was just so weak and intermittent. And now it was gone.

And Prowl was agonising over the thought that it may have been the last time he'd ever hear the sub-compact's voice again. A voice usually so annoying, yet always cheerful… and those filthy Decepticons had turned it into a broken, horrified whimper. Prowl knew those pleads would creep into his meditation and his recharge and haunt him for vorns, even if they somehow managed to retrieve Bumblebee after all this. By the sound of what they had done, he was doubtful that they would ever retrieve the same Bumblebee that they lost.

And when Prowl returned to base, nearly in stasis from staying out and searching without pause, he could see in the faceplates of the rest of his team that they shared the same fears.

They were already grieving the loss of Bumblebee when he wasn't even offline. Perhaps… it would be a kinder fate if he were.

Bumblebee shook with racking sobs, vocaliser grating them out, rasping, horrible noises that echoed around the dim space as he hovered between being consciousness and a stasis full of sickening memories.

Every little movement held off the stasis, despite his utter exhaustion, but he couldn't shut out the pain signals that shot like lightning through his meta from the multiple reticulations in his armour, caused by the seeker.

He didn't want to think about his port. He continued to try and collect enough oral lubricant in his mouth to spit out the bitter, foul metallic taste mixed with his own energon. He could do nothing to try and cleanse the filthy feeling in his leaking valve. He shuddered as he felt another dull stab from his cord as well. Oilslick had decided to defile him even further than just abusing his port, which he had been happy to do eventually… but first he had taken a sick interest in Bumblebee's mouth.

Bumblebee could still feel the scratches and damage to his fuel intakes and voice synthesiser caused by the Decepticon's large spike. He had been unable to prevent the initiated tank purging reaction, but nothing had come of that at the time because his tank was empty. He was running on emergency backup charge now. It was running out slowly, but he didn't care.

He didn't think he'd ever be able to recharge again if he lived… the taste… the feel… that disgusting cord rammed down his throat, slammed into his faceplate until his olfactory unit armour had been dented by contact with the Con's pelvic gimble.

And once the 'Con had warmed himself up using the vibrations of Bumblebee's involuntary yelps and screams around his cord, he'd hauled him onto his back on the berth, arms still pinned under him in the stasis cuffs, and pounded into Bumblebee's port, reversing the magnetic charge of his spike so that he didn't plug in until the yellow mech was screaming and pleading for it to stop through a heavily static laced vocaliser. His valve had been streaming with energon from further extensive damage to his sensitive port walls, and when the 'Con was almost at his peak, he finally slammed his spike into Bumblebee's plug and flooded him with spark energy so furious and hateful Bumblebee had been rendered silent, trying to cease his ventilations and engine and will his own spark to terminate simply to escape the intensely dark and terrifyingly feral energy of the 'Con.

But he had been denied the mercy of such a thing.

And for his own amusement, once the motorcycle had sated himself, he decided to un-recess Bumblebee's own spike, which he had proceeded to crush in his grasp as he mocked pulling the Autobot off as a 'reward' for being such a good, noisy whore.

He had dug a claw into the cable sheathing and drawn a gouge straight through the silicone like outer fibre, Bumblebee keening in agony as the sensitive interfacing unit was so delicately and exquisitely dissected. Oilslick had then unwarped the metal of his codpiece enough to slam it closed on his cord, and that is how it had stayed. Energon pooling under the metal as it leaked from his port, some of it escaping as it overflowed and dripped down the torn underside of his interfacing cable, stinging the exposed inner wiring before dripping to the floor.

Bumblebee had been welded in place on the wall again for the defilement of his spike, and that was how they'd left him. Limp in his bonds, legs forcefully kept apart. The Jet had put him up there again, but other than using his after-burner torture, he had seemed content merely to watch Oilslick work and sneer with biting comments.

Bumblebee had stopped asking himself his question now. He could no longer find an answer. He was ashamed. Surely he could go no lower.

It didn't even matter to him anymore. Every klik that passed brought him closer to off lining…. He started to wish he hadn't asked his friends to help him… he wished he'd told them not to bother… all he wanted now, all he was fit for was off lining.

I should just have said goodbye… even if they saved me, it's too late… I can't live with this… I don't WANT to… it would be easier for them if I just died… nothing could fix this now. Not even Ratchet.

Bumblebee let out a quiet, screechy whimper.

Primus I miss them… I should have said goodbye… I wish I could see them once more just to say goodbye… but I don't want them to see me like this… I don't want them to know what's happened to me… I'm pathetic enough without them knowing…

They were all so absorbed with the communication and then attempted tracking, that none of the Autobots noticed the small, intermittent blips of one of their own approaching earth.

The one approaching didn't know they were all so frantic, he HAD hoped they were more pre-occupied with the Decepticon forces he was aware had come to the planet recently to notice him on their sensors though.

He WAS giving off an autobot signal, so it shouldn't really have mattered if he was detected or not, but his intention was not to have to interact with any of the Elite guard or the earth outpost team of former repair bots.

Longarm intended to contact the other Decepticon force. He needed information and he needed it now. He was already so close to having his cover blown it wasn't funny. He had lost communication with Megatron after their leader had ordered his troops to disengage from confrontations with Elite guard forces on the spacebridge outposts.

One team had gone awol since then, apparently trying to regroup with their suddenly uncontactable leader.

Apart from needing to know where his master was himself, Longarm would not have the warlord's troops doing as they pleased, and intended to pull them sharply back into line. It was his duty, after all, he handled much of the Decepticon army's communication and organisation, and as a trusted and high ranking lieutenant, he would see that the troops errant behaviour would not go unpunished.

And apart from his concerns over team Jarve, he was eager to prevent loosing his useful inside position spying on the Elite Guard because of contact between Sentinel's crew and Optimus'.

His chief concern of course, being a certain arrogant, big-mouthed yellow scout.

He would definitely have to be dealt with…

Chapter Text

Longarm had the co-ordinates for his masters old earth hideout. He went there first to investigate. Wary of being caught on what seemed to be a crime-scene, he remained in his Autobot disguise as he dug through the rubble of a crater in the mountainside. He had already used the excuse of a top-secret fact finding mission to take the elite guard craft and travel un-monitored away from Cybertron, he had the perfect alibi as the head of special intelligence.

The now open hole had obviously been a cave once, and a large one at that, but it seemed whatever battle had taken place there had demolished much of the surrounding countryside.

The grey and teal mech kicked over a large, warped sheet of metal… the remains of the spacebridge it seemed. But this was infuriatingly futile. There was nothing, no clue as to what exactly had happened or where Megatron was, or any of the Decepticon forces in the area.

…until a blip appeared on his personal scanner.

"Lockdown?… what is he doing in the earth sector… hardly matters, perhaps he can be of some use."

Longarm muttered to himself

Making sure he was in the shadow of the hillside, Longarm shifted to his taller, much more comfortable form. He could only give off his Decepticon signal when in this mode, but the carbon deposits in the hill should be sufficient enough to hide him for a moment. Apart from that, Lockdown was not privy to his Autobot disguise, even if he was aware of Shockwave's insider position. And it was to stay that way. The less that kniving bounty hunter knew, the better. He could get credits for almost any little tidbit of information if he found a customer for it, and Shockwave was not about to risk vorns of hard work (and putting up with the monotony of Autobot life was hardly easy), by simply getting onto a communications channel to make some enquires and give it all away to the devious 'Con sympathiser.

"Lockdown, this is Decepticon Shockwave. Acknowledge."

There was at least a Klik of static, and the single optic'd mech was about to try hailing again when the line crackled and a faint, drawling and distinctly hoarse voice floated mockingly over the line, the bounty hunter's black and white faceplate swimming into view on his forearm comm.'s screen.

"Shockwave, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do ya for?"

While Lockdown's tone was his usual slimy arrogance, it seemed he was less enthusiastic than normal… almost distant. But Shockwave didn't really care, he had his own problems, and they were far more important.

"Lockdown, have you made contact with any other Decepticons while in the earth sector?" Shockwave asked curtly, eager to make the conversation quick and to the point.

"As a matter of fact, I've been helping' out one of your teams, yea. Got into a bit of trouble when they landed. I got 'em the parts they needed, but it'll be a while before they're ready to launch. Ya don't sound like you wanna just pop in for a chat over a cube of energon though, troops been givin' you trouble?" Lockdown snickered.

Shockwave's single red orb narrowed dangerously.

"Give me their location before I track you down and show you exactly how displeased with them I am." Shockwave said calmly, icily. It was a demand, not a request.

Normally, Lockdown would have been more stand-offish if spoken to like that by any mech (except perhaps Megatron, but the warlord generally had more manners than that anyway, because he knew how not to frag off his suppliers). However, the decepticon spy and communications officer was easily as ruthless as his leader, and Lockdown was aware he was capable of doing more than just bodily damage to him.

He would comply. But that didn't mean he'd do it the easy way.

"Well sure, I can give ya their location. Only cost ya 50 credits, I'm feelin' generous."

Shockwave let out a small noise of incredulous disgust, but angrily began to type at the data screen below the vid-projection of the bounty hunter's slyly grinning faceplate.

Shockwave would have like very much to punch the projected black and white face, but he didn't have time for this and it would be faster to comply and just pay him than to argue.

"There, the funds have been sent, you may collect them from your account holding in New Kaon. The Location co-ordinates. Now."

Lockdown chuckled at Shockwave's impatient tone. A moment later a data-packet began to scroll across the screen. Once Shockwave had absorbed the information with an even deeper scowl and brighter glow of his optic, he shut the comm. Screen off and headed out of the crater, changing back to his Autobot disguise for the short trip.

Pit-spawn Bounty hunter… the other ship was only 10 Kliks north-east of him, in the cave systems.

Longarm had hidden his own ship in the caves to avoid detection. About the only good thing with this organic mudball called earth was it's abundance of geographical phenomena that could disrupt signals.

It was only about two breems before Longarm reached the large crag that led into a cave big enough to hide a decepticon cruiser.

He walked in, and after switching his vision to ultra violet, managed to locate the ship within a matter of a few Kliks.

Walking up to the purple vessel, the autobot changed once more into the taller, much more menacing form of Shockwave, and three clawed digits rapped sharply on the main hatch.

"Striker! I suggest you hasten to let me in, before I do your ship more damage. My patience has already worn thin!" Shockwave called through the metal. Barely four astroseconds after he had finished yelling, there was a sharp hiss and the hatch slid away, revealing not Striker, but a shorter, slimmer mech.

"Shockwave?" Oilslick said blankly, both surprised and confused, and admittedly a little apprehensive given the sour demeanour of the high ranking decepticon officer looming in their ship's entrance.

Shockwave entered, sparing Oilslick little more than an irritated wave of acknowledgement.

"Where is captain Striker?" Shockwave asked, curt, sharp and icy.

"I'll just go get her, she's with Cyclonus." Oilslick murmured.

Shockwave merely glared as the chemical warfare specialist moved swiftly down the corridor away from him into the bowels of the ship.

Shockwave headed for the command deck, where he paced impatiently. Oilslick quickly returned to him with the large femme commander.

"Shockwave, I thought you were permanently posted on Cybertron?" Striker said, puzzled, as she gave a quick formal salute.

"I am, unless needs must dictate otherwise. I'm afraid we are in a rather precarious situation, made worse by your actions! What in the Pit are you doing on earth? You were specifically ordered to hold position in your sector. Now I have an Autobot loose on earth who knows my double agent identity and you've led the elite guard right to him! My cover could be blown at any cycle, and your insubordinate team will have to answer to Megatron when he asks why his deepest information source has been lost! You had better have done something useful here, or your off lining will be slow and painful. Report! "

Striker seemed a little shocked by the normally ice cold officer's suddenly venomous temper.

She did not falter in her answers though.

"When we lost contact with Megatron we thought it best to rally to him. We procured information from Lockdown that this was his last known location, but when we arrived there were no leads. None of the other officers were contactable either. Lockdown had informed us of the Autobot outpost though, so we engaged them to capture and interrogate for information. We only bothered bringing one back, and we discovered what happened."

Striker faltered in her story then. She wasn't exactly sure how Shockwave might take the Autobot's account. Hopefully, if she redirected his anger to the scout still in their custody, he would take his ire out on it instead of them.

The single red optic lense contracted impatiently. "Well? What is the Autobot's story? What happened to Lord Megatron?"

Striker cleared her vocaliser with a small crackle of static before continuing as unfalteringly as she could.

"There was an altercation in the Decepticon base where the spacebridge was built; The Autobots attacked when they discovered it's location. According to the Autoscum, Starscream turned on Megatron and attacked with a small force of clones. The Autobots had their own backup in the form of Omega-Supreme apparently, and there was something about problems with transwarp fields, and in short, Megatron is no longer on the planet."

There was tense silence following the end of Strikers' report. Shockwave began to pace again, his processor whirling with calculations and simulations as he tried to assess how much sense this account made.

"So… you are telling me that these Autobots… a spacebridge repair crew and their ship, who happens to be Omega Supreme, managed to send the almighty leader of the Decepticons warping somewhere unknown?"

Striker gave a single, terse nod.

Shockwave loomed over her and Oilslick with a glare.

"You're lucky I know some of those Autobots personally, or I wouldn't believe you. But the fact that the foremost expert on Space-bridges is among them, thick cranium though he may have, makes it slightly more credible that they could have done this… I have also researched their profiles individually. Their medic was said to have been the mentor of that giant Autobot death machine. I don't suppose it's too far fetched to think he could have resurrected the thing. What happened to Omega Supreme?"

Striker quietly vented in relief. She had been sure the double agent would not take her news well. But she wasn't about to push her luck, and made sure to answer him promptly.

"Apparently he was caught in the unstable transwarp field and has also been lost."

"I suspected their communications had been lost when I was not immediately weeded out upon losing contact with Megatron… it seems it was not just their communications. I was lucky there… but I would be hoping for too much to think the Elite guard hadn't already made contact with the repair crew and had all the details of my true identity revealed to them. If not… we may still be able to salvage this situation, if we can repair your ship enough to obliterate all the Autobots on this mudball. And we can bait them with the one you captured, if he's still functioning?"

Shockwave, who had begun pacing again, stopped and turned his blank, crimson optic expectantly on them.

"He is still online. They will still respond if we bait them with him." Striker confirmed smugly. Shockwave could tell from her tone that they had been having a lot of fun with their prisoner once he had given them all the information they wanted.

"Which one of them is it?" Shockwave said nonchalantly, not truly interested but supposing it would be useful to know.

"The smallest. A yellow scout. Cyclonus is with him now. He's testing the calibre of Autobot armour under the stress of a direct afterburner application." She snickered.

Shockwave stared at her intently for a moment.

Dare he believe it?

Dare his luck be that good?

Bumblebee…oh how long I have waited to destroy you entirely, and finally my chance…

"I may need to interrogate that Autobot further, privately. Cyclonus may continue presently, but do not let him offline. I have matters to settle with that mech."

"Report." Sentinel barked tiredly at the twin jets as they landed.

They both shook their helms sombrely after saluting.

"We are finding nothing sir."

Sentinel made a clipped noise of frustration and turned on his heel, striding to the concrete couch and sitting heavily, crossing his arms and legs with a sour look.

No one else paid him much heed. Ratchet was watching and scrutinising the monitor banks like a turbo-hawk and most of the others where still out on search patrol, scouring the city mercilessly for any sign of the 'Cons and their yellow friend.

By now they had also enlisted Captain Fanzone's help, though there was little the human could do and few resources to spare, but the little he could afford was appreciated nonetheless. He had seemed, in his own gruff policeman way, genuinely concerned over Bumblebee's fate. Optimus had explained in detail the incident in the park and the balding blonde human had immediately put out a call for human witnesses of the event. A campaign was running on all news networks for locals to report in any Decepticon activity they may see, but unfortunately no serious calls had come in.

The air in the Autobot base had been growing tense and the silence deeper with every megacycle.

Every one of them had lost hope as time wore on, even if they refused to admit it out loud or even to themselves.

The worst by far, though, was Prowl. He spent the longest time searching, was reluctant to refuel or recharge more than was absolutely necessary, and he seemed to be losing his usual calm, collected demeanour more each day.

On the fifth day of Bumblebee's captivity, Bulkhead had realised they had not informed the Sumdacs of what had happened. Sari and her father were on a short 'bonding' holiday, and no one had the spark to call and tell them, even though they were due to return very shortly.

Prowl had sworn with cold conviction that they would find Bumblebee before their human friends returned. He seemed to have taken his oath to spark, and the longer time dragged on, the more desperate he seemingly became.

The jet twins moved to a quiet corner to rest and converse quietly, having flown the city limits for several earth hours non-stop.

Not a breem after their arrival, the sound of a motorcycle reached their audios and Prowl rolled into the base, transforming and stumbling slightly as he moved to the couch, clearly close to falling into stasis lock.

When he sat, slumping and staring blankly at the ceiling, Sentinel got up and went to sit at the monitor console with Ratchet, who looked around with taut and tired concern on his faceplates.

He rose with a soft sigh and went to get Prowl some energon, walking creakily over to the couch and pressing it into the black and gold bot's servos.

"We'll find him kid. We will." He said quietly, urging Prowl to take his fuel.

Prowl continued to stare at the ceiling blankly, one of his servos twitching around the energon cube.

He was silent for a few astroseconds.

"We have to find him Ratchet. He begged me… I promised we'd find him, I can't… we can't leave him to them any longer, we can't, he won't…"

Prowl trailed off, his voice laced with static as he circulated hard through his vents.

There were heavy pede-falls as two other bots entered from the rooms further into the base where they had been recharging.

Optimus and Ironhide were about to take over from the Jet-twins and Prowl, but they paused momentarily in the main area to take some energon before their rounds of searching.

"We will find him Prowl. I'm not leaving one of ours to those filthy pit-spawn… they'll slip up, and when they do-"

"By the time they slip up it'll be too late. You of all bots should know that Medic." Sentinel drawled irritably from the console, where he was seeing nothing but stupid humans going about their business, not a care in the world while they, the more advanced and clearly superior life-forms that they were,continued a fruitless search like fools for a useless mech everyone seemed to still think would be online.

Ratchet scowled over at Sentinel. "You never put a whole lot of store in Bumblebee did you Sentinel? He's a slag of a lot tougher than you think-"

But Sentinel cut him off with a snort. "It's not about how tough I think he is. You honestly think a mech who's reached the stage of begging like that is going to have lasted the megacycle? It's been 5 orns since then. We have to face facts-"

"Sentinel, if you're suggesting what I think you are, DON'T even go there. We are NOT giving up on our team-mate. He wouldn't for us, he didn't for us. That's why he's where he is. Stopping our search is not an option." Optimus stated, his voice full of uncharacteristic, cold authority as he walked over to stand stiffly before the console platform.

Sentinel had spun the chair around to face them as he spoke, but now he rose with a sour look on his faceplate.

"Who offlined and made you the superior ranking officer here Optimus? Just because he's your team-mate, that doesn't give you any authority over me, and if I say we call off this useless search, then we slag well call it off! You're ALL delusional if you think he's still functioning! And even if he is, which I find highly unlikely, knowing him as I do, do you seriously think you have the resources to fix him? From what I could hear over that comm. Link, he's gone already… nothing but a quivering heap of petrified scra-"

Sentinel never finished his sentence, because with a resounding CLANG, he hit the floor sideways.

The blue and yellow Prime raised his head with a grunt, rubbing his jaw and staring disbelievingly up at Optimus, who was scowling murderously down at him while massaging his dented knuckle plating. It was clear he was holding back more punches with difficulty.

Ironhide and Ratchet both rushed to Optimus and Sentinel to break up the fight before it could start.

But before Sentinel could even make any kind of comment about court-marshalling the other Prime, all four of them were distracted by a voice from the entranceway.

"Sorry to interrupt what looked like the beginnings of a good fight, but I thought I'd drop by and help you bots out a bit."

Prowl, exhausted as he was, sprang to his pedes again the moment he heard that voice.

He fell into a defensive position and readied himself to reach for his shuriken.

The others stood dumbstruck for a moment, staring at the intruder before they too took up defensive positions.

"What do you want?" Ratchet and Optimus said in unison.

Lockdown held up his servos with a crooked grin that only held half of his usual confidence and sneer.

"Cool your circuits there, I'm not here to cause any trouble."

"You're not here. Period. Leave."

Even Optimus looked over at Prowl with some wary surprise at the black and gold mech's chillingly cold and unusually hard tone. His visor was an icy blue, nearly white with his fatigue, but he stood his ground, glaring daggers at the bounty hunter, who merely smirked a little more and narrowed his own optics.

"Sure, I'll do that. But I thought you might like to know where your friend is. My mistake, I'll just be going…"

"Wait, what? You know where they are? Where Bumblebee is?" Ratchet asked sharply, but still not entirely trusting his old foe.

Lockdown was unlikely to lie to him though, knowing as he did that the old medic could whip his aft in a fight these days.

"If you're expecting payment of some sort, we're not going to give you anything when we can't know you aren't lying." Optimus added in a warning tone.

"I'm not askin' for any payment. Technically, I've already been paid. You need to know where they are and I can tell you, it's as simple as that. Now you wanna listen or are ya gonna throw away my unusual generosity like the total bit-brains ya are?"

The Autobots exchanged looks… except for Sentinel, who was sill on the floor and biting back thoughts on the matter, realising that Optimus would probably snap if he pushed him now, and he liked his plating un-dented and gleaming, thank you very much.

There was a few astroseconds of silent deliberation before anyone spoke.

"This had better not be a trick Lockdown. If you're messing with us, so help me I'll track you down and disassemble you piece by piece myself." Ratchet growled.

Lockdown took their grudging acceptance with a nod. He hadn't really expected a whole lot of hospitality from the Autobots, even given he was about to help them save the scout who, in his opinion, was really beyond saving… but all the same, their reaction was like a fanfare parade compared to some of the welcomes he got among the Decepticons.

"'Cons crashed in the lake, but they've moved out into the old mines out in the mountains. Carbon deposits are hiding their signal, but they'll be done fixing their ship soon and head off-planet. You'll wanna be quick to catch them before they leave, so here-" He threw a data chip to Prowl, who caught it deftly, looking between it and Lockdown in disbelief.

"-co-ordinates to their location. I suggest you wait for 'em and ambush the ship once it's out of the caves. They aren't expecting you."

With that, Lockdown simply turned to leave.

"Why?"

The Bounty hunter looked back at Prowl as he uttered the uncertain question. His black and white faceplate was blank, crimson optics as cold as ever.

"Kid'll tell ya when you find him." was his blunt reply, and with that he left.

Bumblebee was hovering somewhere between reality and nothingness… reality being pain and nothingness being an elusive offline that he couldn't achieve.

He hadn't been able to fall fully unconscious for several… well, he could only guess orns… it had seemed like stellar cycles to him, but it wasn't as if it mattered… either way, he had given up hope of rescue now. It wasn't going to be long before the Decepticons would be ready to leave (they had been taunting him about it ), and he would be going with them apparently. Used and abused until he was fit only to be dumped somewhere in whatever reaches of space they ended up in.

Until then they were giving him meagre rations of energon to keep him functional enough for their desires.

He didn't care anymore. All he knew was he wanted it to end.

He'd lost count of how many times they'd violated him now. And that was only one thing… they tortured him twice as much as they forced themselves on him. There wasn't an inch of his plating left untouched now. Spitter had cut through his armour and circuitry on every limb and then started on his chassis.

The femme had appeared once or twice to use him as a punching bag. Oilslick had tested various acids on his plating, mostly his legs, and Blackout had even returned to crush the armour on his forearms. He'd also thrown Bumblebee into the wall by the arm with the shoulder injury. The joint had been dislocated and was absolute agony to move… not that the rest of him wasn't. But grinding, misaligned gears and cogs and twisted, damaged and frayed connective wires were particularly unpleasant to experience.

The last to have a turn with him had been Cyclonus… some of the worst damage yet was from him.

The purple jet had decided to test a metal warping technique on him. He had used his heel thrusters to heat Bumblebee's black dermal plating to a dull red for breems at a time, interspersing the heatings by quenching the metal with acid borrowed from Oilslick. He'd then done super hot Passovers with his afterburners, causing the metal to buckle and ripple so that it cracked and became inflexible once cooled.

It scratched and pinched sensory nodes whenever Bumblebee moved, and the jet had applied the technique to his upper arms, midriff plating, and then he'd taken off his chassis armour and done some underneath that, just below his spark chamber.

Despite the fact Bumblebee had screamed his vocaliser into oblivion and been sure he would offline from the agony, it was still not as bad, in his mind, as the violations.

He shuddered weakly, not even wanting to think about those. He pushed them back in his CPU, trying to focus on darkness, trying in vain to initiate full stasis so he could block everything out.

But his base programming wouldn't allow it. His codes had been changed by the trauma, and the deepest parts of his meta refused to let go of all consciousness, because he was too paranoid, too edgy… he had to be alert enough to know when they came in… and he always was, even if he'd rather not be aware.

So when the sound of a mech's steps echoed down the corridor to him, his systems onlined again, sluggish and stressed, to make sure he witnessed his next terrifying session with full use of his senses.

Bumblebee was afraid already, there was no way he couldn't be when he was perfectly aware of the things about to be done to him, and who it was didn't really make a difference to the level of fear.

Except this time.

This time Bumblebee's very spark recoiled in abject terror.

His optics didn't need refreshing, and he knew it… it was as if someone had decided this nightmare wasn't bad enough already.

The huge form deactivated the energy bars and slipped through the doorway, straightening into a menacing stance.

Shockwave's singular scarlet optic focused on the smaller mech's prone form through the gloom.

Metal rattled on metal as Bumblebee quailed in his bonds on the wall, unable to still his shaking even though it was sending shocks of pain over his damaged sensory array.

"Hello Bumblebee. Long time no see."

The mechs' smooth vocals were so familiar, so gentle… so at odds with the vicious looking, towering Decepticon that came to stand over Bumblebee's damaged and shivering form.

Bumblebee didn't respond. He couldn't. The most he could seem to do was stare, wide-opticed with horror, at the figure before him.

Shockwave didn't seem to care if he responded or not, taking his time to drink in the sight of the bane of his existence, fettered to the wall, frame ravaged almost beyond recognition, cocky air and grating voice all absent.

Shockwave's gaze lingered momentarily on the mech's open interface panel, the cord extended, mutilated to the point were it was unretractable, hanging like a broken wire and dripping energon and other filthy, rancid old fluids that ran down it's length from the unseen but obviously very damaged port.

"You have no idea, how long I have waited for this day." Shockwave spoke softly, almost crooning with cold, sick anticipation.

Bumblebee remained silent, his vocaliser too locked up to even whimper, or scream, or plead.

But he was sure, if the blank faceplate had a mouth, it would be smirking and baring it's denta.

Shockwave would make good use of his time here, most certainly… but he decided to indulge himself first. What was the point in waiting, afterall? He had what he wanted, and he was not obliged to follow anyone's wishes but his own… there was nothing stopping him now.

Oh, this was going to be so very satisfying…

"It is such a shame…" Shockwave sighed, a dark edge to his mockingly sympathetic vocals as he leant down to put his faceplate right into the smaller bots'.

One of his clawed digits trailed the inside of one of the crushed and cracked thigh-plates, making the Autobot shiver more violently in repulsion.

Bumblebee squirmed weakly, uselessly, but he couldn't stop the digit as it drew open his warped panel. Fluids of various sorts that had pooled inside the panel of metal dripped onto the floor and Shockwave made a small noise of distain.

"…I wanted to be the first to violate you in this way… it would be nothing less than a worthless Kaon whore-house reject like you deserves…"

Bumblebee let out a shriek of pain as a large talon was shoved into his port, scraping wires and sensors, causing a spasm of white hot pain to radiate through his frame.

Bumblebee whimpered as the claw was thust in and out roughly, damaging him further, opening the weakened minor energon line in his valve again, the tiny amount of dull pink fluid doing little to help ease the friction of the massive Decepticon's claw as it pounded him roughly.

Shockwave seemed to grow bored with his whimpers after about a Klik, and before Bumblebee knew it, the double-agent had slashed open the bindings on his legs and grasped one of his thighs, hoisting his pelvis up to what he seemed to deem a more pleasing angle.

The single optic narrowed as he viewed the port hungrily while pressing his clawed finger in as far as he could, watching the energon beading out around his talon and trickling down to drip into the already sizeable pool of mixed fluids on the floor.

Bumblebee, his legs free, tried even harder to remove himself From Shockwave's grasp, but he knew it was futile. The leg in Shockwave's grasp flailed below the knee in an attempt to kick the 'Con, but it was barely tapping the huge mech's leg. The one dangling wasn't much use either, being so badly damaged, and every time he landed a weak kick on Shockwave's knee, the talon was slammed harder into him, as if to teach him a lesson. Bumblebee cried out as white hot pain lanced through him from his ravaged port and the damaged shoulder he was trying to keep his weight off of.

"Go on Bumblebee… beg me… beg me to stop, and I might take pity on you… just like Longarm did…"

"No!" Bumblebee gasped, wincing and grinding his denta as he was hoisted up higher by one leg, talon digging deeply enough into him that he could feel it's tip scrape his socket.

"You will only suffer more if you do not do as I say." Shockwave purred threateningly.

"I- hnnngggg… I'll suffer anyway… you want me to beg you… to enjoy it… you can't make me… can't take it by force… no substitute for real begging… I know, they already tried… I'm not giving it to you!" Bumblebee panted, only half coherent as his vocaliser crackled, laced with static from the agony shooting through him.

"I can take whatever I want from you Bumblebee, and do not delude yourself otherwise!" Shockwave hissed, drawing his clawed finger out of the hot, energon slicked and damaged valve.

Bumblebee's optics had shuttered in response to the pain, but they snapped back on at the removal of the digit.

The sight he was greeted with tore all thought from his processor.

Shockwave still held his leg, his pelvis raised to the same level as the huge 'Cons. But Shockwave had swiftly opened his own interface panel and was extending his spike…

And it was quite literally a spike… it looked as though the only time he used it was to cause pain to another mech… some sick form of reverse masochism… and Bumblebee's optics only widened with a terrified wave of dread because he knew he was about to be the subject of the spy's horrific desires.

"From the first day I met you all I wanted to do was put you in your place… you so obviously don't know what it is, even after all this time." Shockwave hissed as he brought the head of his spiny cord to Bumblebee's entrance.

Bumblebee couldn't stifle the whimper that rose and crackled out of his voice synthesiser. He had been taken enough by now to know what he was in for… but the metallic protrusions on Shockwave's plug… he could only imagine how much they were going to hurt, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop this…

Shockwave pressed in slowly, watching Bumblebee's faceplate screw up in agony, his vents stuttering and mouth stretching open in a silent cry of agony as the huge, aggressively formed spike was pushed slowly through his small, torn and hyper-sensitive valve entrance.

"Mmmmm… I don't know how you ever thought you were Elite Guard material. Only goes to show the weakness of the Autobots, even letting you entertain the idea by going to boot camp… at least your friend Bulkhead specialised in something, but you… this was all YOU were made for…"

Bumblebee was trembling violently as the cold spines pressed harshly against the wire bundles inside him, scraping over raw sensors and making him buck and twitch in pain, head rolling to the side and optics firmly offlined and shuttered. He tried not to listen, but Shockwave's silky vocals seeped into his audios like a poisonous line of code.

"Still, you made a useful pawn, despite the fact you were too nosy for your own good. Too loud-mouthed for your own good too, but it won't matter soon. You aren't going to be telling anyone what you know about me… you won't be online long enough."

With that, Shockwave began slamming into him mercilessly, drawing screams from Bumblebee's burning vocaliser. But as much as he writhed and sobbed and cried out at the agony of the metallic protrusions ripping against the wires inside him, he refused to beg. It would be the breaking point, for Bumblebee, to give in so entirely, to submit his very mind to Shockwave after everything that had happened… he wouldn't do it, even though it seemed pointless and futile, after all he'd been put through, and knowing he'd be tortured to death, he still wouldn't.

Bumblebee was concentrating so hard on willing himself not to give into Shockwave's desires, he forgot what was coming next… the pain was already so bad he didn't remember it was only going to get worse… so much worse…

Shockwave magnetised his spike as he thrust it harshly through Bumblebee's stabbing, aching port.

When Shockwave plugged into him, Bumblebee went rigid, mouth and optics wide in a silent scream.

The feeling of Shockwave's systems… his data, his black energy, his cold, so very very cold spark, imposing, pressing into every inch of Bumblebee, getting under his plating, infecting his circuits. Bumblebee was paralysed by it. Overwhelmed by the sheer evil of this mech. He thought he'd had a measure on the real Shockwave… he'd had nothing…

Bumblebee's vocaliser failed him completely. His injuries were forgotten as his spark was consumed with the fire that was Shockwave, who poured the entirety of his coldness, the depth of his dark entity into Bumblebee. The smaller mech's spark withdrew into itself, trying to draw away, escape from the nightmare, escape from the pure agony that had become it's whole existence.

Bumblebee wanted to die. Right then, right there, he wished his spark would sputter out and he would fall into blissful nothingness.

Shockwave felt it, and it sent him crashing into overload with sick satisfaction.

Bumblebee felt nothing but fire raging through his systems with Shockwave's overload. His vocaliser unlocked from the shock and he screamed louder than ever, the sound resonating around the cell and back into his very chassis, the cry seeming to come from his very spark rather than the broken piece of voice synthesising equipment in his neck column.

When at last, Primusly at last, the fire subsided, Bumblebee could feel his own body again. And he wished that he couldn't, because it ached all over worse than ever.

He hadn't been able to register it at the time, but during overload Shockwave had sunk three of his talons into his chassis, and now the deeply pierced wounds were leaking small trickles of energon.

Sharp pain lanced right down his whole lower half as Shockwave pulled out of him, laughing.

Bumblebee shuddered at the sound. He felt it as if it had been inside him… he felt sick, filthy, tainted… he wanted to offline just so he wouldn't have to survive with the feeling of Shockwave's energy seeping through his circuits like a disgusting cold virus.

"That's more like it… and now, the fun begins." The double agent purred with an enthusiasm that terrified Bumblebee.

Shockwave raised an arm, calculating briefly, before he swiped over Bumblebee's head, and the next thing the broken mech knew, he had crumpled to a heap on the floor.

He let out a hiss of static, optics off lining as the fall jarred his raw and pained sensors.

When the flair of agony ebbed somewhat, he onlined his optics and took stock of his position.

His servos were still bound in the stasis cuffs, only the weld strips had been cut. He was on his side, and just near his head…

Bumblebee scrambled back weakly from the huge, sharp pede, whimpering as he used his excruciatingly wounded legs, but it raised and came down slowly on his chest, pinning him to the floor. He writhed against it and let out another burst of static as the pressure on his chassis was increased.

Shockwave leaned down over him and grasped one of his arms. Bumblebee was too weak to fight the strong grip, and he could do nothing but watch in horror and cry out silently as one huge metal claw was brought to the tip of the crushed yellow and black arm plating and drawn down, slicing through the badly damaged armour like it were made of aluminium.

The end of the massive digit scraped across the relay connector panel under the armour, and another whimper managed to squeeze out of Bumblebee's grating vocaliser as energon trickled from the wound, while the rest of the armour was ripped from his protoform.

The sudden cut to the connection with that piece of his external array hurt intensely enough to make Bumblebee gasp through his vents. He squirmed weakly again, but the pede did not shift from it's painful pressure on his chest plate.

Shockwave continued with apparent relish, to do the same to Bumblebee's other arm, cutting a slit along the length of the yellow plating before wrenching it open and tearing it away.

He turned around, grinding his stabilising servo on the dented chassis beneath it, and started the same procedure on Bumblebee's leg armour.

Being a much larger part of Bumblebee's external array, it hurt enough when wrenched unceremoniously from his leg to make him scream aloud again.

Shockwave drank the sound in like a turbo-hound would drink in an oil puddle after walking across an iron desert. That was what he had waited for for so long. Oh, how he wanted to make this insufferable thorn in his circuits scream. The sound was so very delicious.

He continued his work by starting on the other leg, scratching at the connective relay panels under the armour as much as possible, sending raw signals of fire right to Bumblebee's CPU.

Bumblebee knew Shockwave wanted him to scream… knew it would be no use begging… but he didn't care enough now about being defiant to stifle the cries ripped from his aching vocal components.

Eventually, Shockwave had removed every scrap of filthy, dented yellow armour, leaving only the damaged and trembling protoform.

Shockwave watched with a hungry optic, almost unable to hide his excitement at the prospect of marring that quivering black and yellow form beneath him. He could just see the glow of the small mech's spark through a glass-like panel set high in his chassis, not quite reaching as low as to reveal the spark chamber. He really was built like a pleasure model… so tantalising… such a tease…

Bumblebee scrambled backwards now that the pede had been removed from his chest (along with his chassis armour, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

He was feeling terrifyingly exposed, and brought his stasis cuffed hands up to his body to shield his spark chamber… an exercise in futility though he knew it was, given he both WANTED to offline and doubted he could really protect his spark at all if it came to Shockwave trying to extinguish it.

All the same, Bumblebee also doubted Shockwave would extinguish it in a manner anything less than excruciating.

The massive mech laughed, low and dangerous again, and Bumblebee suddenly found the huge form looming over him on the floor. He pushed back weakly with his damaged pedes, but they scrambled uselessly and one of the three-taloned servos shot out like lightning, grasping his head.

Bumblebee gave a crackly yelp as his helm was ripped off… the last piece of his armour, he'd forgotten about it. It hurt when it disengaged suddenly from the integrating circuitry that ran over the top of his cranial unit, but that was the least of his cares.

Bumblebee pressed back into the wall, as Shockwave, now on all fours, advanced like some kind of predator…

Bumblebee was forcefully reminded of Prowl for a moment, and whimpered to realise he would never see the other mech again… he'd never see any of his friends again… never…

Shockwave placed his weight slowly on one of the scattered pieces of armour… a leg unit… and it was crushed, crackling and letting out a few blue sparks in it's last moments of being remotely functional as anything but scrap.

To further menace his captive, Shockwave slowly tightened his grip on the yellow helm in his other servo, satisfied by the popping and cracking of the tempered metal and cracking, flaking enamel paint.

He threw it to the side as he loomed right over Bumblebee's violently shaking form, but the mech had a faraway look in his dim blue optics.

Was this worth it?

Bumblebee didn't know why the question was back, plaguing him, insistently poking it's business in at completely the worst time, but it was stuck on a loop in his processor as he watched that red orb grow bigger and leer like the portal to the pit, straight at him.

Was it worth it? This? Going through this, for them?

I'm never going to see them again… they wouldn't have suffered this, because this is personal, shockwave only wants to do this to me….

So was it worth it? Saving them? Putting yourself in this position?

… it will be if I offline.

Yes.

Yes it was worth it… but only if I offline…

I don't want to live with this…

And Primus I don't want them to know…

Bumblebee drew his limbs in as Shockwave leaned right over him, trying in vain to shield his spark and horribly damaged, aching interfacing array… but with a single clawed servo Shockwave managed to throw his shackled arms above his head, his head slamming onto the floor where the larger mech dragged him.

The other silver digited servo forced Bumblebee's legs apart, drawing a static laced whimper from Bumblebee as the motion strained damaged connections and wires in his pelvic gimble.

The air in the cell seemed suddenly intensely cold… without his armour, Bumblebee's protoform was bared to the elements with insufficient insulation or protection… his spark was nearly visible, it was true… he knew pleasure models had builds not unlike his, and he'd fought the stigma of the similarity his whole life-stream. It was one of the reasons he was so… rambunctious… so eager to prove himself… so very outgoing and into things that might seem immature. He didn't want to give the faintest impression that he was any-mech's bot. He was not made simply for the pleasure of others, and he was not keen on doing anything that he wasn't sure he'd enjoy as much, if not more, than anyone else.

But right now… right now he couldn't help Shockwave's degrading words from worming into his processor… because after everything that had happened the filthy, cold, cruel decepticon spy was right…

What did he have to offer, really? Everyone else had something to give, some real skill, some exceptional talent…

He had been fast. And half of that had been his new mods. What use was speed to anyone else, really? He wasn't a good fighter (not as good as Optimus or Prowl), he couldn't fix anything, he couldn't tell you how exactly a spacebridge worked… what was he? Other than a tag along?

Thinking on this, Bumblebee realised the fate he now suffered… was almost inevitable. He'd tangled in stuff too big for him from the very start… and now here he was, being used in a way he'd never imagined in his worst nightmares, completely unable to stop it. At least the 'Cons enjoyed themselves taking him how they pleased. He was making them happy by being a weak, useless play thing for them. Perhaps this really was his real lot in life?

Bumblebee couldn't help the clicks that escaped him as Shockwave pinned his legs open with his knees and traced his free servo over Bumblebee's quivering chassis, caressing the glass that barely showed the glow of his spark with the tip of a silver talon.

"I told you I get what I want. Begging would be nice, but reducing you to this… you finally realise, this close to your end, that no one ever wanted anything more than this from you… and you couldn't even do this properly. But nevertheless, I find myself quite enjoying the experience, despite your short-comings."

The claw tracing his chest plates gently suddenly pushed down into the black dermal plating down Bumblebee's side.

Bumblebee sobbed and wailed as stabbing pain assaulted him afresh as Shockwave dragged the digit down his side, opening up a shallow gash that sparked angrily with broken micro-relays.

It was too much for the small mech, so close to off lining, his body overwhelmed with agony, processor reeling with shame and disgust, and he felt so horribly exposed…

The Talon continued to make shallow cuts through his dermal plating, over his chest plates, over his arms, his legs, scratching at the bare circuit relay points where his armour normally integrated with his main systems.

It was worse for a mech to be stripped of armour than it was for a human to lose clothing… armour was a necessary second skin to all cybertronians, and it handled much of their temperature regulation and extraneous equipment needs, but apart from that it protected their complex circuit structures and vital components, and above all their spark… their very life essence. Being stripped of armour was like having half your body taken… like being stripped of a limb or two.

What was more, thousands of years of wearing it meant very little contact was made with the sensory arrays of the protoform plating, which was in turn not used to being touched.

Least of all ripped open.

Bumblebee keened as Shockwave tore through his sensitive base-plating. He was weakening considerably from even the small energon loss caused by the wounds littering his exposed frame.

He was losing coherence… but was sharply wrenched back to reality as claws grasped his neck tightly and pulled him up.

He was kept in place by his cuffed arms, held up above his head as he was bent up off the floor from the waist.

Even before Bumblebee could power up his optics, which he had shuttered against the pain of his torture, something was rammed into his faceplate.

His optics snapped on with a start as the large, spiny thing was placed at his gasping lips and plunged suddenly into his mouth with a growl.

Bumblebee whimpered, unable to fight, unable to even bite down in protest as he gagged, jaw gears locking with how wide his mouth was stretched by the thick spike.

Bumblebee shuddered as it was pushed deeper into his mouth, tangy metal spines scratching his glossa and soft internal oral intake plating.

Bumblebee continued to click and sob and cry out weakly as the spike was rammed further down his intakes with vicious thrusts. Fuel intakes were made from tough components, true, but they were never designed for anything like Shockwave's interface… it wasn't even a cable, it was a torture device… and it damaged Bumblebee's throat so badly that oral lubricant and energon pooled in his mouth from broken lines, trickling and spattering out the corners of Bumblebee's lip-plates as the Decepticon rammed his spike in and out of the helpless mech's mouth.

Bumblebee could taste the foul fluids that had been left on the spike from his own valve (which burned like pit-fire between his trembling, spread legs), mixing with the taste of fresh energon and oil leaking from his mouth and the very cold, bitter taste of Shockwave's components.

The spiny head of the plug was rammed so far down his throat tubing that Bumblebee gagged, cables tensing and auto-response mechanisms taking over in his sluggish systems.

Shockwave felt the tightening of Bumblebee's intakes and heard the reversing pressure of his pumps in his small, mutilated chassis. He pulled out of the weak mech , leaning him forward, and Bumblebee spasmed slightly as his tanks purged in response to the deep, cruel penetration.

It didn't last long though, the small mech had very little to purge, given he was sustained on the absolute minimal meagre rations that the crew could afford to waste on him.

Bumblebee panted through his vents and let out a small involuntary whine, the warm unprocessed energon having splattered on the decking between his legs.

Shockwave dragged him away from the small pool of fluid and out into the centre of the cell, where there was more room.

Bumblebee couldn't process much more of what was happening to him… but he was forced to alertness by his ever present need to know exactly what was being done to him… he hated it, but at the same time thought he might get lost in the blackness of pain without forcing his CPU to focus on something. He just couldn't let this be done without him being aware, it was too much like giving in.

He didn't even know which part of him cared enough about not giving in after everything that had happened, or why it refused to stop fighting a lost battle. He accepted it must just be some defective piece of Autobot programming.

So stupid he thought fleetingly, hating himself even as the line of code crossed his meta, what does it matter? What does being an Autobot matter after all this, what does fighting mean after all this? They don't care, and the Autobot cause doesn't mean slag to me right now…

Bumblebee gasped sharply as he felt searing pain building in his chest plates.

He looked down, and a wave of sick, icy dread coursed through his lines. Shockwave was trying to pry open the bottom seam of the glass panel on his chassis, to initiate his chest-plate's auto-transform sequence and reveal his spark-chamber.

"No! No stop, *crackle*don't, get off! *kzzzt* GET OFF!"

Bumblebee truly panicked… he hadn't actually thought Shockwave would… would do it this way… oh Primus what was he going to do? How long and drawn out and painful was his death going to be?

He pushed through the fire in his rasping vocoder as he continued to squirm weakly but feverishly.

Shockwave still had his legs spread and kept open by his knees resting between Bumblebee's own. Bumblebee's arms were above his head and pinned by a servo while Shockwave continued to pry at his chest plates, his single optic focused with hungry intensity as he patiently scratched and snagged and pulled.

Eventually he tired of how long it was taking. He did remember he was a busy mech, and really he'd have to get all he wanted done here finished before the cycle was out.

With a rare growl of frustration, he simply drew back his servo, fisted it, and punched the glass panel on the small mech's chest plate.

Bumblebee screeched in agony, nearly off-lining, his vents gasping as shards embedded in his circuits and wiring.

But Shockwave did not relent. He picked out the glass shards hurriedly, and pulled out those in the bottom edge of the frame before curling his talons under the metal covering the barely visible spark chamber and peeled them back.

When he warped the top edges, the automated programming that medics usually used to gain access to a mech's spark-chamber kicked in and the damaged gold panelling drew back to flood the huge Decepticon's cold features with warm blue light.

Shockwave vented heavily in triumph and anticipation.

He set his memory banks to full intake… he wanted to burn this moment into his processor forever… it would be one of the most satisfying, gratifying things he had ever done In his time as Megatron's best double-agent… even though his leader must never know of it. After all, the higher ranking mechs had standards to uphold… only the lower ranks sank to levels such as rape and interfacial debasement. But Shockwave was making an exception here. He'd never felt the need to do this to any mech but this one. It would never satisfy him as greatly if he merely tortured the sub-compact nuisance and ripped out his spark.

He wouldn't be ripping it out… no, it would be so much better to scar the deepest parts of Bumblebee and watch him break while he did it.

Shockwave's spike, still extended and re-pressurised after stimulating himself in the smaller mech's mouth (a fine way to gag the insufferable mech, if only he could have done it like that in boot camp), was lowered to the small, trembling pelvic unit below. As Shockwave spread his knees to lower himself, Bumblebee's legs were forced so widely apart that he had to bend his knees and raise them to avoid his hip joints from being popped out or connective wires and tension cables stretched beyond their limits. He was now in an utterly helpless position beneath Shockwave, forced to bear all… absolutely all, to the huge, potently evil creature.

Shockwave showed no mercy. He never had and he never would.

He plunged his spiny cable straight into Bumblebee's stretched and dripping port, drawing a piercing cry from the small mech somewhere between a scream and feedback.

He set a slow and agonising pace in the mangled valve, making sure to scrape painfully against sensor nodes along the port walls, feeling it spasm around him in agony.

His servo traced the rim of Bumblebee's spark chamber even as he slowly thrust back and forwards in the small frame, drawing a terrified keen from the bot who's optics flickered off as his head arched back and he shuddered violently.

Shockwave, very carefully, put a claw to the edge of the silvery casing, and drew it out, away from the spark, leaving a deep scratch in his wake.

Bumblebee howled, static lacing his voice heavily, arching his back into the floor to try and escape, but it was no use.

With the sound, the huge mech rammed harder into Bumblebee's port, the cry ringing headily in his audios, vibrating through his hyper-sensitive antennae and sending a delicious sensation right down his back-strut.

Shockwave found it so very hard to hold back each time he repeated this action, his victims cries ringing in his audios, merely slamming harder into the squelching, torn, weeping port, hitting the socket with his jack several times but not magnetising and connecting… not yet… but so close…

Bumblebee had thought nothing… nothing could hurt more than the first time Shockwave violated him… he hadn't counted on having his spark lain bare with the intent of physically maiming his core at the same time as Shockwave violated him…

He writhed and screamed and keened, unable to control himself, unable to stand the excruciating signals from his very laser-core as well as from his interfacing array, but unable to offline and fall into the bliss of nothingness…

Let me die… let me offline, PLEASE just let me go…

Shockwave's thrusts became sharper, shallower, faster… he clawed with less pressure at the rim of Bumblebee's spark-chamber, the ball of light within quivering and throwing fluctuating light patterns over the purple symbol on the armour above it.

And then, very carefully, Shockwave lowered a talon to the blue orb, hovering just above it's surface as Bumblebee stilled in horror…

And then the massive Decepticon magnetised his agonising spike and plugged in, drawing his claw right across the surface of Bumblebee's spark as he did.

Bumblebee didn't think he could scream like this… he didn't think it was possible for a vocaliser as damaged as his to produce such a loud, energon curdling sound, but as Shockwave's overload ripped through him and his spark exploded in absolute and all encompassing agony, he made such a sound.

Then Bumblebee lost all train of thought, processor fritzing blank, pain washing over his being entirely, feeling only it and the dark, cold energy of Shockwave pressing in on him from all sides, suffocating him.

It never seemed to end… waves of hot and cold sweeping through him, each with their own brand of pain, burning him over and over, no part of him left untouched by the sensations, the feeling of something piercing the very core of his being…

But somehow it did fade… it didn't exactly stop, it slowly ebbed away, leaving aching blackness behind.

He felt something odd… the world around him shifted. Incoherent, he didn't recognise the sensations trying to relay back to his shell-shocked processor.

He didn't really feel anything but that awful, sickening ache left by… left by Shockwave… tainting him to his very core…

Let me offline…

He wasn't aware of his armour being bent back into shape and crudely welded back together over his broken protoform.

Please…

He didn't feel his mutilated spike forced back into it's housing, or the pressure applied to the golden plating to close it back over his weak, shivering spark.

I don't care if I don't go to the matrix…

Bumblebee didn't know the dizzying, tank churning sensation of the world around him lurching was Shockwave picking him up like a rag-doll and putting him back on the wall, welding the strips of metal back over the cuffs and his ankle joints.

I'll spend the rest of existence in limbo if it means it stops hurting…

"Bumblebee."

The voice sighed, satisfied but tinged with a dangerous edge.

Somewhere in his CPU, that stupid, tiny little piece of coding made him stir his senses into focusing back on the real world. Pain lanced through his processor as he fought for coherency.

"This is not the end, yet. You know you don't deserve for me to just end your suffering quickly."

Bumblebee tried to whimper at the deep-set ache and sickening pang in his scarred spark, but all that came out was a thin static sound.

"I will make sure you offline… I am uploading a virus… it will be slow, agonisingly so, but eventually it will breach your core and after that, you will suffer as though in the pit, and then you will offline, here, alone."

Bumblebee shuddered… but the full impact of Shockwaves purred threats were lost on his still reeling processor.

He felt the prick of something being plugged roughly into a medical access hub in the side of his chest plate.

He jerked slightly in his bonds as the coding downloaded into his systems, firewalls doing little to nothing against it, shot to pieces by Shockwave's torture and invasion.

It settled like a sick, cold, solid dead weight in Bumblebee's chassis and lay dormant, waiting for the right time to initiate.

"It was so good to see you again, one last time my old friend… be assured I will never forget what it was like to destroy you, Bumblebee. Such a pity I can't let you live so that I may see it still in cycles to come, but at least you served one useful purpose in your entire, pathetic life-stream. Although Wasp will be so displeased I took his revenge away from him, but the pawns cannot hope to have any power against their masters."

Bumblebee was silent. He heard Shockwave leave. Heard his own slow, sputtering ventilations as his body valiantly fought to cling onto life with it's maimed spark and mutilated systems.

He wished so desperately that it wouldn't.

He hung, waiting for the aching throughout his entire being to abate, but it wouldn't. He could still feel Shockwave inside him.

He would probably die with that feeling still inside him.

Alone.

In the dark.

Broken.

Why?…Why do I deserve this? What did I DO?

He didn't really notice when he began to sob, his quiet clicks resonating in the chill air around him as darkness gathered at the edges of his meta so that he slipped into some incoherent limbo of pain and despair.

What did I do?… why won't it end… why… please… no more… I can't… no more…

Chapter Text

"Sentinel, I know I don't have any rank to pull over your team… But just this once, you're going to listen to me and do exactly as I say, or this whole mission will go to pit, and I will not allow that to happen."

Optimus murmured low and clear, his azure gaze boring into the other Prime's.

Sentinel's expression was neutral, although Optimus knew him too well to believe the blue and yellow mech was perfectly fine with what he'd just been told.

"This once Optimus. I suppose this is your one and only chance to make up for the last time." Sentinel half sneered, half deadpanned.

Optimus narrowed his optics slightly with a terse nod of acknowledgement. Really, he would very much have liked to punch Sentinel again for that… for one, he was never to know Elita could ever have survived the explosions on that woeful planet, and what was more, he had been quite repaid by her more than once for the ordeal… not that Sentinel knew that.

Optimus opened his comm. Link to the rest of the Autobots. Alright, this is it. Team one, signal us as soon as the ship comes into your sights. Teams three and four will converge on my signal. We're going to draw them out and allow team one to sneak in and rescue Bumblebee. Teams two and three, you'll all be working with Sentinel and I to keep those 'Cons off their ship. Chances are they won't take off if they aren't all on board, so we have to keep them off their vessel until we've got Bumblebee out of there, clear?

There was a chorus of affirmatives over the line.

Team five, you two will be doing your best to keep that ship physically grounded, but be aware that Decepticon jet could come after you. You're going to have a difficult job fending him off and keeping that ship down, but I trust you're up to the task.

Affirmative Optimus Prime sir.

We will make it looking like piece of oil cake sir.

The two jet twins chimed back confidently. Optimus had been told of the two bots extraordinary capabilities and competencies through their Elite Guard training and knew they'd rise to this challenge. He was counting on it. They needed everyone's skills. This couldn't fail.

He wouldn't let it.

"The other Autobots are of no concern. We will not be engaging them. The prisoner stays on-board until he ceases to function. Have your crew ready your vessel and leave for New Kaon. I must return to Cybertron."

Shockwaves' tone was blunt and cold. It was not a voice one argued with. But all the same, Striker found herself somewhat baffled by his sudden change of plans.

"Sir? I thought these Autobots compromised your position as double agent?" The femme captain queried carefully, mindful that the high ranking mech may still yet be angry with them. She hoped his interrogation of the prisoner had at least appeased him somewhat.

"As I said, they are of no concern. It is your luck that the one bot you captured was the only eye witness with credible evidence to compromise me. The others words are nothing without that scout, and he is quite unable to testify."

By the sneer in the teal and silver mech's vocals, Striker guessed that he had indeed been satisfied by his torture time with the yellow piece of scrap.

"We will begin departure now. System and hardware repairs are complete, all we need do is initiate preparatory sequences and get out of the caves. We will not be cloaked once we leave the cover of the carbon deposits, but we will leave before the Autobots could make it to our location from their base. It will take a breem to warm the engines enough to do an atmosphere breaching run."

"Very well captain, get to it. Once you are out of the caves I take my leave. And with regard to the prisoner, you and your crew may observe his condition briefly, but you are not to touch him for 5 cycles at least, understood? You will leave him isolated." Shockwave ordered flatly, red optic resting piercingly, unreadably on her own faceplate.

Slightly bewildered, she answered "Of course sir."

Striker saluted briefly as Shockwave gave a single nod and then turned to depart for the brig again. He wanted to watch Bumblebee suffering one last time. The sense of satisfaction it gave him to see the Autobot finally degraded to a suitable level befitting him was like nothing else. And soon he would be wasted to nothing… his specialised virus would do it's work magnificently. Shockwave only wished he could watch that dying moment… oh it would be so delicious… but alas, it would be more fitting that the obnoxious bug die completely alone in the dark.

It was moments like these Shockwave relished his choice to join the Decepticons.

Bumblebee barely understood what was happening anymore.

Really, he didn't want to know. He tried to focus on something other than the unbearable ache throughout his frame and piercing icy sting that seemed permanently etched on his spark… but beyond his physical pain, the only thing he could concentrate on was the feelings reeling through his processor.

He was utterly disgusted with himself. How had he come to this? How had he allowed Shockwave to violate him so completely? He should have fought, Primus why hadn't he struggled more? It didn't matter that he was weak, it didn't matter if he'd been offlined for it, that would have been so much more preferable to… to this… to feeling so… so soiled… his very core polluted, tainted by the claws of that monster.

The worst of it was remembering what Shockwave had said.

Bumblebee choked on a whimper, feeling a dull throb under his armour as a build-up of leaking energon finally spilled through a crack in the slap-dash welding on his chassis.

Why had the decepticon even bothered to put him back together? Why was he hiding what he'd done? After all, none of the other Decepticons would doubt his assessment. Sure… he'd fought hard to spare his friends from this… but more of that was luck than his actual skill. That was evident, because all his luck had been used up on saving them… and then he'd had his optics opened by these 'Cons. He'd been so full of bravado. He'd been so sure he could take this. So sure the others would save him, and he'd just stick it out and wait, and everything would be okay eventually… he'd been so blind to what he should have guessed long ago. He'd fought the stigma most of his life hadn't he? Small, lithe, mouthy… what had he ever really achieved? Failing to find a job he could hold, failing to make it into the elite guard, failing to defend himself against Decepticons, what had he expected?

He really was only good for carnal pleasures… and that was only to others, not himself… and now he'd been forced to accept this at the servos of these disgusting, vile Decepticons and it only hurt more because he realised Shockwave was right… and he'd been running from it forever, running from this truth that he was actually useless. The only thing he was good for, these Decepticons had taken from him by force.

And now, spent, realising that he didn't think there could be life beyond this, that an existence beyond this revelation was a meaningless, agonising prospect, all Bumblebee wanted was to offline.

Bumblebee let out a broken keen of agony and frustration as something white hot sped through his circuits.

Shockwave had infected him with something… something that was killing him slowly… even more painfully… and even though he knew that he had to accept his position in this, he couldn't help thinking…

Why me? What did I do, really, that was so bad? Is this because of Wasp? Is this my universal punishment? Why am I suffering like this when there are  'Cons who've done worse and don't get punished? This isn't fair, why can't I just offline now, quickly, quietly… this isn't fair… it's isn't fair… it's not…

Shockwave watched, satisfied, as Bumblebee hung limp and shaking in his bonds, sobbing quietly as his end came painfully nearer.

Prime, I see the ship, it 's backing out of the crevice slowly

Optimus felt a thrill of sick anticipation wash through his frame and he tensed, grip on his axe handle tightening.

Alright Prowl. Everyone, hold position until it 's just cleared the cave. Sentinel's crew has already confirmed they won't be able to get out of the atmosphere without warming up their engines, and we don't want them to be able to duck back into those caves and hide, or they'll have the attack advantage.

Optimus received a consortium of 'understood' and 'got it prime' before the line was silent once more.

This is it.

No room for mistakes.

We're coming Bumblebee.

Just… please be online.

"They're not going to get away from us this time. These 'Cons are going to pay."

Optimus looked around, slightly startled by Sentinel's dark, hard tone.

The Blue and yellow Prime gave Optimus a look that said they were in this together, no matter their differences.

Prime, the ship has cleared the caves.

Optimus nodded with a look of pure conviction.

All teams, GO GO GO!

At first, Oilslick wasn't quite sure what was going on. He had to shutter his optics a few times before it sunk in and he felt the information settle like a lead weight in his tanks.

"SLAG!"

"What?" Striker spat in his direction.

"Autobot signals… everywhere, they've surrounded us, our scanners couldn't pick them up from in the cave-"

BOOOOM!

The two Decepticons on the bridge grasped at the control boards as the ship trembled violently.

"Bring up outside scanner feeds, now! I want to know exactly how many and what firepower they have." Striker ordered sharply, Oilslick already halfway through taking out the order.

"Frag, there's 10 signals… and two are airborne, ah slag it's those new Autobot jets, Shockwave warned us about them… the rest are that spacebridge crew teamed with the elite guards."

Striker let out a growl of frustration and punched up the ship's intercom.

"Cyclonus, Blackout, get out there and defend the ship, we need time for the engines to warm up! Spitter, patrol the ship, make sure no Autobots get in, they've probably come for their precious companion, and I don't think Shockwave is willing to let him go."

"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not very keen on that." Shockwave's icy vocals cut across the command deck.

Striker turned and quickly saluted the imposing figure of Shockwave as he glared down at the two bots on the bridge.

"I must leave undetected Striker, I have been badly enough compromised already. Oilslick, you will provide cover for me then return to whatever duty is necessary here. I would very much prefer the Autobots not get their companion back. Is that understood?"

Striker merely nodded, motioning to Oilslick to go and do as their superior officer ordered.

"DECEPTICON COWARDS, COME ON OUT SO I CAN TEAR YOU SOME NEW EXHAUST OUTLETS!" Ironhide yelled as he activated his strengthened plating mods and began pounding on the purple ship's hatch.

He was actually a little surprised when the hatch opened and he was met with a rather large object and two scarlet optics.

Ironhide leapt back with a yell as Cyclonus stepped out and thrust an energy scythe in his direction.

"Oh it's YOU huh? How about round two!" Brawn growled as he slammed into Cyclonus' side. He had been standing to the side, waiting for a 'Con to take Ironhide's bait. The trick had never yet failed.

Ironhide and Brawn both proceeded to engage the purple jet in close combat. Neither saw the huge black shadow that loomed out of the ship's hatch after the first 'Con.

"Coming through!" Bulkhead yelled, driving full force towards the fight and slamming into Blackout as he stepped off the ship and raised a pede to engage his charge disruptor.

While Ironhide, Brawn and Bulkhead fought the Decepticons that had appeared, Ratchet assisted the twins in locking up the ship's engines so it couldn't take off.

Cyclonus, Blackout, I 'm covering the superior officer's escape. Get those other Autobots off the ship, they're messing with the thrusters!

Oilslick's terse and snappy comm. Broke through Cyclonus and Blackout's fighting hazed processors.

With a snarl, Cyclonus leapt out of the reach of Ironhide's furious, shinning silver fists and transformed, blasting across the top of their own craft to chase down the meddling bots screwing with their ship.

Blackout was much faster than he seemed, and held his own well against the three Autobots attempting to disable his weapons… but then of course, more of them came.

Optimus ran into the fray headlong, wielding his axe with deadly accuracy, slicing a few of Blackout's rotor-blades clean in half.

Blackout released a roar of fury and doubled his vicious attempts to beat the slag out of the mass of Autobots crowding him.

Sentinel joined the fray and soon Blackout was being driven blindly further and further from his own ship.

Need some help over here, the Jet's playing pretty rough, and these kids are good but they aren't experienced enough to handle this alone! Ratchet's voice came over the Autobot comms.

Brawn, you have a good throwing arm, go throw that jet some curve balls, and by balls I mean boulders. Jazz's voice came over the link.

Optimus had the fleeting thought, as he threw his weight into another swing at the black Decepticon's head, that he would very much have liked Jazz on his team if he'd been dismissed from the academy.

Brawn did as Jazz said, leaving Optimus, Sentinel, Ironhide and Bulkhead to distract Blackout.

Ratchet was messing with the Decepticon ship's shielding using his magnetic field generators, and the Twins were having a hard time preventing the Purple seeker from getting near him. Ratchet felt a few shots soar over his helm.

"CLEAR!" came a loud, gravely voice.

Ratchet snapped his helm around, watching with a triumphant smirk as Jetstorm and Jetfire both scarpered in the air, leaving Cyclonus hanging, slightly bewildered, before he very narrowly dodged the huge rock thrown his way.

Cyclonus snarled and dived towards Brawn, but the Twins were back on him in a spark beat.

Brawn merely laughed and started haling more huge rock slabs from the base of the cliffs, getting better at warning the Jet twins via comms just before he threw. The more rocks clipped the Seeker, the more enraged he became.

Prime, I think team one can move in now, the  'Cons are pretty well distracted.

Ratchet comm'd.

Affirmative Ratchet. Team one GO.

At Optimus' command, Prowl and Jazz slunk silently across the cliff-face ledge, Prowl keeping his hologram emitter up to make it look like they were just part of the rock face.

Prowl felt like a turbo-dog let off the leash. He was having trouble even reigning himself in. All he wanted to do was charge that ship, blow it's hull open and tear the place apart until he got Bumblebee out of there… but that was not going to work, and he had to focus all his furious energies into stealth and subversion.

He and Jazz made their way down the cliff towards the left of the ship's nose.

Just as they were descending the last steep drop, there seemed to be some kind of disturbance from the underside of the wing closest to them. Black smoke poured from a section of plating.

"Looks like their repairs didn't go so well after all. Quick, now's our chance." Jazz murmured, and the two ninja-bots dropped from the rocks, kept low and ran for the ship's underside.

Jazz was the first into the thick of the black smoke, his visor enhancing his vision through the black smog. The black and white mech leapt lithely through the hole, crouching and scanning the area. He quickly ducked back out to Prowl, who wasn't moving, but hiding in the black smoke that had started to slowly dissipate, staring into it's depths as it trailed away from the ship.

"Prowl, there's a 'Con in that corridor, heading back away from this hole, but he'll probably be back to fix it, we gotta hurry."

"I thought I saw… never mind… I'm coming." Prowl muttered, low and terse as he dragged his gaze away from the too-thick swirling cloud and followed the other Ninja inside the purple hull.

Just as they moved inside, clear of the black smoke, the panel they thought had blown open slid shut behind them, not at all damaged… but a service hatch that they couldn't identify in the smog.

There was a tinkling sound as something was thrown from around the corner, bouncing off the corridor wall and towards them, smashing on the floor.

Prowl, instantly recognising the weapon, grabbed Jazz's shoulder and dragged him back down the corridor the other way, clearing them of the area before the phial's contents could hit them.

A laugh followed their hasty retreat.

"Imbeciles. Like we wouldn't notice a couple of Autoscum sneaking on board. You aren't getting him back you kno- AAAAGH!"

The oily mocking voice was cut off as a shuriken went sailing around the corner and slashed across one of his upper arms where the plating was not as re-enforced as on his chassis.

"Nice use of long-range, my man." Jazz snickered, giving Prowl a pat on the shoulder plate before he deployed his energy nun-chucks.

Striding forward slowly, he spun both sets fast, fanning air out away from himself and clearing the fumes of the toxic weapon as it slowly dissipated.

Prowl followed closely in his wake.

"Come out come out little ninja-bots… I've been waiting to kick your slippery, sorry afts for a while now. I bet you're maaaad about what I did to your friend huh? Mmmmm, we had a lot of fun with him, oh yes. You wouldn't believe how good he screams when you- HAH!"

As Prowl leapt around the corner angrily, Oilslick stopped taunting and threw a phial of his specialty mix straight at the Autobot Motorcycle's faceplate.

He couldn't wait to watch him writhe on the decking in agony as slow burn acid ate his plating before covering it in cosmic rust…

Except that didn't happen.

The Ninja-bot gave him a look cold enough to match Shockwave's, his blue visor as unreadable as the single red optic.

Oilslick had known Ninja-bots were fast… but no mech had processors quick enough to catch a phial going that fast with that much spin….

Except the black and gold mech wasn't even touching the phial. It was hovering before his faceplate in mid air… and was he… humming?

Oilslick couldn't move for shock.

Until he saw the phial come flying back at him, at which point he simply turned on his pede and ran, but the tinkling of glass at his heels told him he wasn't fast enough, and he came crashing down with a wail of agony as he felt acid splash all over the back bottom halves of his stabilising servos.

Prowl and Jazz ran down the corridor, leaping over the flailing, raging, yelling Decepticon as cosmic rust slowly and painfully began to spread from his pedes up.

How are we holding up? Optimus called over the comm., intakes heaving as he dodged a few laser shots from the huge black Decepticon. Sentinel had already been hit point blank by a few shots in the shoulder, but he seemed genuinely unfazed, his anger apparently outweighing his pain receptors. That would change once they got back, Optimus knew they'd be in for a lot of whining.

That Jet's still putting up quite a fight, Twins are ticking him off and Brawn has sustained a serious impact from a dive-bombing, I'm just patching him up. Ratchet replied.

We are Okie for Dokie, have Cycle Motor Prowl and Jazz sir gotten inside Ship yet? Jetstorm enquired as he nimbly dodged a swipe from one of Cyclonus' energy swords.

Yea Dawg, we're in. Met a Decepti-clown in here too, but Prowl gave him a taste of his own medicine, we're lookin' for their brig now. Jazz replied

Try to hurry guys. Bulkhead's terse voice came over the open comm. They all knew he wasn't saying it because he was having any sort of trouble fighting off Blackout.

We'll do our best Bulkhead, don't worry. Prowl assured him, feeling anything but as calm as he sounded.

Comm. Me when you've got him, I'll need to rendezvous with you to assess his damage. Ratchet sent hurriedly as he finished his repairs on Brawn's badly dislocated joint.

Will do Ratch-man. Jazz confirmed, no joy in his voice.

"I think we're close to the Brig now." Prowl muttered.

"What makes ya say that?" Jazz asked, keeping a watch on their backs to make sure they weren't snuck up on.

"Him." Prowl said flatly, and Jazz heard him deploy a few more shuriken down the hall.

Jazz whipped around to see two metal tentacles beaten back by the flying projectiles as a large mech bore down the narrow corridor towards them.

"Ah, I see, a guard. Let's do this."

Jazz leapt straight towards the charging 'Con, Prowl apparently on his heels.

Spitter hadn't really counted on this reaction. Generally when he charged Autobots, they scattered.

To increase his defences, Spitter flailed his tentacles around in front of him as he continued forward.

Jazz whacked the tentacles out of the way with spinning nun-chucks and went for a roundhouse aimed at the 'Con's middle, but Spitter jumped back out of the way and lashed a tentacle out, slamming Jazz against the wall.

Prowl, it seemed, had stopped dead in the middle of the corridor. Spitter assumed the mech was scared stiff, remembering what he'd done to him upon their last encounter. Spitter changed into beast-bot mode and made to do it again. His aim was true. He swallowed the mech whole…

But he met nothing solid with his jaws.

There was a moment of utter confusion, followed closely by a moment of great pain as something fell from the roof, landed on his head, and punched hard between his eyes, severely jarring his processor.

The blows reigned until Spitter went into shut-down and slumped in stasis on the floor.

"Lets go." Jazz quipped, rubbing his midriff plating a little as he tilted his head towards the dark end of the corridor.

They followed it down into the bowels of the ship, where lighting was sparse to conserve energon.

They walked past two store rooms before coming to the Brig cells.

When Prowl looked in, none of the cells energy-bar doors were activated.

Oh No …

"I smell something man. You want me to check it out or keep lookout?" Jazz asked quietly.

"I'll check." Prowl said, voice tense as his throat gears choked up with sick anticipation.

Jazz nodded, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder before Prowl turned and took in a deep intake.

He didn't bother checking through all the cells. The smell was strong, and it's source easy to find.

He walked towards the end, knowing he should hurry, but unable to make himself move any faster.

The stench of old oil, energon and lubricants was so heavy on the thick, cold, tangy metallic air that it nearly made him purge his tanks.

Trying to hold himself together, Prowl turned into the doorway to the source of the smell.

Bumblebee heard noises. Far off, not quite making sense. There was rumbling, muted shouting, such distant laser fire he wasn't even sure he wasn't imagining it. He thought he'd seen Shockwave again not long ago. But he'd stopped trying to make sense of what was real. He wanted to believe this wasn't. Wanted to think it was just a nightmare that would end when he offlined, and he'd wake in the matrix… the painless, endless nothing and everything that was the promise of the afterlife, what all Autobots believed in. What Bumblebee no longer just trusted in, but wanted, desperately, with all of his spark.

But something weird was going on… noises… those noises were different but… almost familiar…

Primus it was so hard to drag himself back to reality, mostly because he didn't want to, reality was where pain was, where he couldn't ignore it… but he had to know what that was, it was important for some reason, to know… voices… a voice…that voice…

…no.

"No… Oh Bumblebee, no…"

Prowl staggered in, but not quite all the way forward.

He wanted to look away… but he couldn't bear to tear his optics from the sight.

Bumblebee…

Pinned against the wall of the cell by cuffs and metal scraps…

Oh the injuries… mangled armour and plating and limbs, so many holes and gashes pierced into circuitry, the energon, the oil, the spattered fluids everywhere…

"Please… please no, don't be… not like this…"

Prowl staggered forward.

Bumblebee was still. Very still, and it was so dark, he couldn't tell if… but he had to know…they couldn't be too late, please, they couldn't be, it wasn't fair…

"Bumblebee." Prowl barely whispered his name, reaching out a shaking servo towards the dented, scratched, warped chassis.

Just as his fingertips rested on the metal, tapping against it with his uncontrollable trembling, the devastated frame jerked slightly and shuddered, as though the touch had caused an electric current to pass through him.

A quiet hiss of static crept from the ruined mech's vocaliser and the faintest sliver of blue shone through the dark in the battered faceplate as Bumblebee attempted to unshutter his optics.

"Bumblebee!"

Prowl stepped closer, quickly but gently taking the scout's faceplate in his servos.

It took a moment for the weary blue optics to power up and focus on him, and longer still for recognition… or perhaps comprehension, to dawn through Bumblebee's gaze.

"P-hhh-ro…"

"Shhhh, it's alright. I'm getting you out of here… we're getting you out of here."

Bumblebee attempted to say something more, but his vocaliser merely crackled and choked with static.

Prowl engaged a shuriken and slashed away the metal strips binding Bumblebee's legs open…

He then placed an arm carefully around Bumblebee's middle and held him firmly before cutting away the strip holding up the cuffs.

Bumblebee's dead weight settled on Prowl and he slowly and carefully lowered him to the floor away from the pool of rancid fluids that had collected beneath him against the wall.

Prowl felt a pang of anguish through his spark as he moved the slightly smaller mech, hearing Bumblebee's damaged ventilators hitch in pain. The only sounds he could make were bare whispers of static whines.

Prowl needed to assess the damage before moving Bumblebee… he didn't want to cause any more injury, least of all a fatal one from a damaged main line or, Primus forbid a booby-trap set by the 'Cons to kill him if they tried to remove him from the ship.

He held Bumblebee in his lap, one hand under the scout's shoulders, the other running exceedingly gently over the tortured frame, wincing internally as he felt the horrific injuries… so many…so very many…

"I'm sorry, Bumblebee, I'm so, so sorry." He was muttering low and pained as the battered mech continued to vocalise staticy bursts and whines. Prowl assumed it was because he was in pain, even from his very slight touches, or just being moved, but he soon realised Bumblebee was trying to say something.

Prowl looked into the damaged faceplate, and what he could see of it was contorted with an anguish that went beyond physical tortures. Prowl watched Bumblebee's lips move, but… what he was saying… no, he couldn't be trying to… why would he?

"S-sorry?… you're… Bumblebee no, you have nothing to be sorry for. Please, don't say that… I can't even begin to ask you to forgive us for taking so long…"

Prowl's vocals died as the intense blue optics shuttered and the frame in his grasp began trembling and clicking softly.

Prowl felt so helpless. So ashamed that this had been allowed to happen.

Automatically he drew Bumblebee into his chassis and held the sobbing, trembling frame tightly, smelling and feeling the barely warm energon and oil leak from under Bumblebee's armour and plating and down his own.

"Never… this should never have happened…never… I'm so sorry Bumblebee." Prowl murmured into the yellow audio cradled and trembling in the crook of his neck.

Bumblebee merely shook even harder.

Prowl was certain he could move Bumblebee… he could take him now, and leave, and they could bring him home at last and… and fix him, they had to be able to fix him…

But Prowl's eyes travelled with trained observation skills around the dark room, visor adapting and bringing the shadowed forms into sharper focus.

He did not miss the stain patterns on the wall.

He had not missed the position Bumblebee had been restrained in.

He had even seen the gouge marks on the berth when he had decided he couldn't lay Bumblebee on it to assess his injuries.

…It was very nearly screaming at him in the face-plate. He wished desperately that it wasn't true. Not Bumblebee… they couldn't… not to him… it wasn't fair… please don't let them have done that…

Can we fix this?

Can Ratchet?

…Can any of us?

"Prowl?" came Jazz's voice from outside the room. He had heard sounds… but he hadn't been sure what they were… he'd even been too afraid to ask, or look, all he managed was a questioning call to his team-mate…

"We're going to get you home Bumblebee." Prowl murmured as soothingly as he could, slipping an arm under Bumblebee's legs and securing his grip under the yellow and black torso.

He rose slowly and left the cell.

Bumblebee quieted in his arms now, his energy levels so low he couldn't sob for long… he couldn't even whimper or express any signs of his agony. He was in a half-aware daze as Prowl carried him out of the cell.

Jazz gasped as Prowl came up the corridor, bearing the horrifically defiled form of Bumblebee in his arms.

"He's alive. We have to go." Prowl said quietly, visor flashing overbright in the dark corridor.

Jazz nodded and opened their comm. link.

Ratchet … we've got him.

…You've…Primus, What's his status?

…Bad Doc… it's bad.

I'll be ready. Escape via the main hatch and I'll meet you there.

Ratchet and the rest of the Autobots outside returned to assaulting the Decepticon ship with renewed vigour.

Jazz and Prowl made their way quickly and quietly through the ship, following the corridors that logically led to the exit passage.

Outside, the Jet Twins were successfully keeping Cyclonus distracted, but their energy levels were waning given they had come on this mission straight from their several hours long patrol.

Optimus and Sentinel were fighting like mechs possessed, thrills of confidence spurring their attacks knowing their mission was close to success.

We won't fail you Bumblebee. Optimus chanted in his CPU as he rammed into Blackout, sending the battered 'Con sprawling.

He and Sentinel were handling the giant black mech now, Ironhide and Bulkhead had been sent to help the Jet Twins.

They were all elated by the news that Prowl and Jazz had Bumblebee and they would be out soon… even if Bumblebee was in a bad way, if he was alive, that was what mattered, they still had a chance.

When Prowl and Jazz found the hatch and leapt clear, Ratchet was attempting to get to them, but found his way peppered with laser fire from an enraged, snarling Cyclonus.

Everyone concentrated their efforts into waylaying the seeker…

None of them saw the femme commander follow the two ninja-bots out of the ship.

An explosion rent the ground in front of Prowl and Jazz, sending them both flying backwards with shouts and grunts of pain.

Prowl had hit his head hard. The shell had exploded so close. All his fuzzy CPU could do was panic…

Bumblebee, where 's Bumblebee?

Static hissed from Bumblebee as he landed hard, his whole body jarred and screaming with agony. He gasped, twitching, and tried to drag himself up, tried to reconnect with reality again and draw on whatever measly energy reserves he had.

He could barely get his one functioning arm under him, let alone roll himself over. The light outside in the overcast afternoon was still too bright for his un-adjusted optics and he screwed up his faceplate with a soft crackly moan.

Then hands… callous, rough hands grasped his mangled yellow collar faring and hoisted him up.

"He's ours, Auto-scum." The femme commander said icily, striding back to her ship and firing more missiles in her wake to keep the rest of the Autobots away.

She didn't even register the stiffening and shuddering of the damaged prisoner in her grasp.

Bumblebee felt the cold fire of the virus flare through him again… he had temporarily suspended his death wish, but now it was back full force.

I hate reality, I hate reality, I hate this, let me go, please, no more …

The femme took him back on board the Decepticon ship and headed straight for the bridge.

Decepticons, we are leaving! On board now or you stay behind!

The engines were warmed up and she had been working to un-jam the thruster signal relays while all the others fought and failed against the Autobot assault.

She dumped Bumblebee unceremoniously on the decking, where he lay twitching in pain, ventilations hitching as internally he screamed for a release from this pit-spawned nightmare, barely able to discern what was happening but unable to slip into stasis due to the coding of Shockwave's virus.

Outside the ship, which had fired up and was powering to full capacity, the other Autobots were going ballistic.

Blackout gave an almighty effort to extricate himself from the two primes and made a break for his ship, managing to absorb whatever the Autobots threw at his retreating form in the way of weapons fire before he leapt for the hatch.

The Ship began to rise off the ground.

"NO!" Ratchet shouted, attempting to disable their engines again, but the femme 'Con had re-engaged emergency weapons shielding.

The Jet Twins, distracted by the commotion on the ground, were rammed out of the way by Cyclonus, who dived for the ship's open hatch..

Prowl and Jazz, both hit hard by the femme commander's initial launcher attack, staggered to their pedes, not quite able to believe it was all going so horribly wrong so very fast.

Prowl fired his boosters with a snarl, making to leap for the rising craft… he might still catch it… he could get in and…

Prowl was beaten to that idea as a whistling noise flew over-head and he saw a grappling hook fix to the inside of the ship's open hatch behind Cyclonus' retreating form.

Optimus had acted on instinct more than any real thought out plan.

They weren't getting him. Slag it they weren't, not now, not after all this, not while Bumblebee was still alive, they had promised.

Optimus engaged his winch system and felt his pedes lift off the ground as he pulled himself swiftly closer to the retreating vessel.

He wasted no time checking the corridor into which he swung himself.

He almost felt as though in a daze, as though it wasn't him doing this, but merely watching from inside another mech's body.

He ran through the corridors towards the front end of the ship.

Cyclonus and Blackout were so stunned when the Prime bust into the command deck that they sat stock still in their seats as he ignored them and located his team-mate.

Striker was so intent on getting them out of there, her mindset having been one of victory now, that the Autobot commander did not register with her until he had already dashed forward, scooped up the scout, and turned tail.

Optimus made it to the corridor before weapons fire started peppering the walls around him.

He did not stop until he reached the hatch again, which was by now closed.

Optimus, still running on pure instinct, kicked at the door lock panel.

After three furious stabs with his pede, the lock sparked and disengaged, and the hatch opened with a hiss once more.

Optimus jumped out blindly. Such was his trust in his team, that he knew… he just knew he would land safely with his precious cargo.

Sure enough, Ratchet was there in a spark beat, catching the falling Prime and battered scout in a magnetic field and lowering them both gently to the ground.

The Jet twins hovered overhead, watching the Decepticon ship continue to rise and disappear into the clouds.

As Optimus rested his stabilising servos securely on the ground, no one said a word. No one was quite able to.

Panting through his vents, Optimus looked down at the small frame held gently in his arms.

Bumblebee was still, at first… but then he seemed overcome with a violent trembling, back strut arching and ventilations struggling, light blue optics barely flickering online. He didn't quite seem aware of what was happening… but it was clear he could feel it in the nearly inaudible whisper of static that crept from his ravaged vocaliser. It looked very much like he was letting out a silent scream.

"Ratchet…" Optimus said uncertainly, looking up with almost pleading optics, begging his team-mate… his friend, for help.

"In my hold, now… we've got to hurry." Ratchet replied immediately, an almost fearful look flashing over his optics before he transformed and opened his rear hatch, allowing Optimus to carefully place the damaged bot inside.

The drive back to the plant was faster and more terrifying than any of them could ever remember.

Shockwave watched from the darkness of the cliffs. He had made it out of the ship undetected… although it had been a close call with one of those ninja-bots, but as he had hoped, the Autobots were all too distracted with their mission to really notice or pay him attention.

As it was, in the end, Shockwave was rather disappointed.

It was unfortunate that Bumblebee would not die alone, the way he deserved. But then, at least his friends would suffer seeing him die in the slow and excruciating manner that his virus would inflict. That at least was some small condolence.

All the same, Shockwave was thankful for his own backup plans. He never could rely on the competence of others.

Turning, he grudgingly changed back into the smaller form of Longarm Prime and made for his ship.

At the Plant, when the large contingent of Autobots arrived, Prowl helped Ratchet, at the medic's request, to get Bumblebee to their med-bay.

"Was he doing that when you found him?" Ratchet asked worriedly as Bumblebee arched weakly on the medical berth with a quiet whine, optics shuttered tightly as he shuddered in pain.

"I think he did it when I touched him, at first… then again, once, when I'd gotten him down."

"Gotten him down?" Ratchet said with a dreading look in his optics as he fixed an energon feed into a damaged port at the base of Bumblebee's neck that bypassed his mouth and started a steady trickle of the sustaining liquid into his tanks.

Prowl gave him an almost uncomfortable look.

"They had his hands bound in de-charged stasis cuffs and they'd welded him up against the wall with bits of scrap. I think…"

Ratchet glanced up from his work on the mangled scout at Prowl's reluctant tone.

"What did you find Prowl? I need to know… what I'm fixing… what did they do to him?"

Ratchet already suspected. He had seen too many mechs and femmes retrieved from Decepticon captivity (half the time offlined, and if ever online, he'd never seen one as badly damaged as Bumblebee), to not know what to expect. He only prayed it wasn't so…

Prowl turned a pained gaze to the medic as he continued to work, starting by sealing the broken energon lines he could reach.

"They… had his legs spread out. There were marks… in the cell, signs of struggling… and on him… Ratchet I think they…"

Prowl couldn't bring himself to say it. He could remember all too clearly Bumblebee's screams, his pleading, that desperate, broken tone when he had last heard him tortured… Primus, could they possibly have been… while they were on the comm.?

"I hate to say it, but there's only a small chance they didn't… violate him, that way. What I don't get…. Is this welding, on his armour, like it's been damaged so badly it came off and they tried to put it back on." Ratchet muttered, trying not to lose his head. His processor was reeling with the fact he was yet to absolutely confirm the worst of Bumblebee's torture.

"From the way energon is seeping out from underneath, I'd say it was taken off deliberately, injury was caused and it was replaced to cause more pain."

Prowl observed, then gasped as Bumblebee arched violently off the med-berth again, one hand shaking and clutching at his chassis over his spark chamber.

His vocaliser whined in protest as he writhed.

"I have to know what the virus is doing to him, and I can't outright uplink anything until I know the symptoms. Hold his head for me Prowl, gently, I need to fix his voice synthesiser."

Prowl did as Ratchet asked, the Medic's expression grim as Bumblebee's shaking quieted once more and his ventilators panted furiously.

It didn't take the red and white mech long. And they were both very aware of when he had successfully repaired the vocaliser, because the first thing they heard from Bumblebee was a loud whine of agony.

"Shhhh it's alright, Bumblebee, we're going to fix this, you'll be alright soon, just hold on." Prowl murmured into his audio, his face stricken at the spark wrenching sound.

"Bumblebee, you need to tell me what that virus is doing." Ratchet said softly, a servo on the scout's good shoulder ( good being the one not dislocated with a large festering hole punched through it ).

Bumblebee, panting, slowly unshuttered and onlined his optics, not looking at either of them, but staring distantly at the ceiling.

"Hnnnn… everything… h-hurts everything… near my spark… then moves out…" the scout explained shakily.

"I have to connect the software uploader via the spark chamber ports then. Can you open your chest plate?"

Ratchet wasn't prepared for the terrified keen he received in response to this request. Bumblebee shrunk away from his hand as much as possible on the berth, panting and whimpering in pain. Prowl had removed his hands from the cracked yellow helm, also bewildered and shocked by the yellow mech's response.

"Whoa, kid, it's OK, it's OK, I'm not going to hurt you… please, I just want to fix you, I'll stop the pain, but I need to access those ports or I won't be able to reach the circuitry affected by the virus. Please, trust me, I'm you're friend, I'm going to help." Ratchet soothed, hands up and back in a non-threatening way, his face betraying his devastation.

Bumblebee, tense and pressing hard against the berth, stared into Ratchet's sincere optics and gave in. After all the humiliation he'd suffered by now… why did he care about showing them what had been done to him? He hadn't been too good at following their conversation so far (this still seemed completely surreal like some cruel joke to him ) but it seemed, from the look in their optics, that they knew… they already knew he was tainted and filthy… what they didn't seem to understand was that he was useless, and fixing him? Why were they even trying? It was pointless…

Nevertheless, some deep seated trust of the medic made Bumblebee try and engage his external armour panels into sliding back… to no avail. And his ruined circuitry interfaces sparked painfully for his trouble.

Bumblebee winced and whimpered, but felt a gentle, soothing hand settle on his chassis. He couldn't help shaking with suppressed sobs as Ratchet tried to tell him it was ok. The Medic had extracted a small welder from his tools and began undoing Shockwave's handiwork.

The very memory made Bumblebee click softly in disgust and shame. Soon they'd see just how tainted he was. Maybe they wouldn't want to fix him anymore. Maybe they'd do the kinder thing and just offline him quickly and quietly and stop his pain for good.

Prowl had placed his hands around Bumblebee's helm again, his thumbs running gently across the plating, trying to keep the mangled scout calm. For some reason, shame seemed to pour off the smaller mech, and Prowl couldn't console his quiet sobs.

Anything that brought Bumblebee, of all mechs, to a state this bad, had to be entirely unthinkable…

Ratchet finished his work quickly considering Bumblebee had another attack from the virus while he was still trying to undo the welding on his left side.

Once he was absolutely sure the chest-plate was free from the catches on Bumblebee's Protoform plating, he very gently and carefully lifted it away while Bumblebee's trembling got worse.

Ratchet and Prowl gasped audibly. Bumblebee felt Prowl's hands stiffen in shock where they held his helm. He heard Ratchet's hands shaking as he nearly dropped the ruined yellow chest armour.

"Oh Bumblebee…" The medic moaned in anguish.

Where he had once known there to be perfectly smooth black protoform plating was now a cracked, brittle, warped mass of heat and acid affected metal. The circuitry beneath had been cut into in several places… but worst was the smashed glass panel that usually resided over the main power lines leading to the unseen but glimpsed spark chamber.

Ratchet could barely control his trembling as he reached his hand gently out to lay it on the gold coloured metal that was the protective plating over Bumblebee's spark chamber.

He could see, instantly, that it had been forced open… the top edges twisted and stressed, broken glass having been pushed into the circuitry it usually protected.

At Ratchet's soft touch, Bumblebee shuddered violently, but slowly, reluctantly, even obediently, he disengaged the locks on his spark chamber panels and they slid up and open.

Ratchet and Prowl couldn't say anything. Ratchet looked ready to offline at the very sight… Prowl sank to his knees, hands still gently cradling Bumblebee's head as the scout twisted his faceplate away from them both, shuttering his optics so he didn't have to witness what had to be their disgust.

Shivering within his chassis, his spark, bare for all to see… had a dark blue line right over it's surface… Shockwave's mark on him, the scar on his very core, a wound no one would ever be able to heal.

Bumblebee waited for Ratchet's verdict…waited desperately to be declared a write-off, so that they could end his suffering and just terminate his ruined spark.

But neither Ratchet nor Prowl spoke, and as the astroseconds dragged by, another wave of the virus slammed through Bumblebee's circuits and he cried out, writhing and whimpering as fire seared around his exposed spark chamber.

With his laser core exposed, for some reason Bumblebee could feel much more acutely the pattern of the virus… it was as if it was wrapping it's tendrils of ice hot pain around his spark chamber, probing, and flaring out through the rest of him when it couldn't pass his base program firewalls.

Bumblebee's virus induced fit snapped Ratchet and Prowl from their horrified trance.

"Alright Bumblebee, it's alright, I'll fix you up, it'll be alright." Ratchet murmured quietly, grabbing the leads to his de-fragging equipment and carefully opening a small hatch to the side of the exposed and scarred inner chamber.

He couldn't even begin to imagine the agony Bumblebee had endured… the gouge marks on the edge of the shu casing told of a torture more despicable than words could do justice.

Once Ratchet had linked Bumblebee up to the machine, he initiated a systems scan to properly diagnose the virus type so he could begin eliminating the foreign coding.

The moment the screen began to scroll data rapidly upwards, Ratchet felt his spark clench painfully.

"Oh my Primus… where… Bumblebee who did this? Who put this in you?" Ratchet nearly whispered, unable to prevent his vocaliser from wavering.

Prowl was staring, non-plussed at the flashing red screen and rapidly scanning data.

Bumblebee let out a few more clicks unwillingly. Why hadn't they just offlined him already? Why were they trying to fix what couldn't be saved?

"S-Shockwave." Bumblebee uttered quietly.

"Frag it… I did see him… it was him, that cloud, it was just a distraction…" Prowl whispered, horrified.

"Slag, no… please, not that pit-spawn…" Ratchet moaned as he balled one hand into a fist. Unfalteringly with his other servo, he extracted an uplink cable from his wrist and plugged it into the machine.

It was a curious sensation to Bumblebee.

The link in with the anti-viral equipment was already uncomfortably familiar to the invasive connections he'd suffered at the hands of the Decepticons… but through that link he felt the echo of Ratchet. It was a lot more detached though, because there was no energy transfer. He felt the tingling sweeps of the machine collecting data and Ratchet's clinical sorting of the code.

Bumblebee had been tensed up and edgy since opening his spark chamber, but the steady probing of unfeeling coding through his circuits was so… different to all the pain he'd become accustomed to… and he let himself relax for a moment. He slipped into an unreal daze again, processor too weary to try and sort through his warring emotions, or his situation. Prowl was running his thumbs lightly over his temples again, and even through the buckled metal of his helm it seemed to lull him further into a detached haze.

It was like this for all of a klik. Then Bumblebee felt Ratchet's sudden frantic tension through the stream of data passing from the machine to his processors.

A moment later he felt what Ratchet had just seen coming.

Pain exploded across Bumblebee's spark chamber. He screamed as white hot fire consumed his spark.

He wasn't aware what his body did… he could have been thrashing or he cold have been rigid and shaking, he couldn't tell. His CPU had no room for any thought, next to the pain his sensors were registering, stalling all his systems completely.

He thought he heard Ratchet vaguely shouting something to Prowl. He wasn't able to comprehend anything but his own frantic internal dialogue of Stop! Stop, no more, not more of this, primus please stop it!

The pain did ebb away from it's sharp, agonising stab, and Bumblebee felt his body again. It collapsed to the berth in a shaky heap. He had been arching and pressing against the surface, jerking with spasms as Prowl watched, horrified, seeing the tendrils of white hot electricity race straight through his spark, causing it to flicker wildly and jerk about in it's chamber as though trying to escape the current racing across it.

Ratchet had told him to disconnect the energon feed halfway through this short but violent attack. When it was over, Prowl realised why.

Bumblebee lay shaking, looking absolutely sick to his tanks.

Prowl hurriedly rolled him to his side and the edge of the berth, and he purged the tiny amount of fuel that had he'd only just been supplied in the last breem or so.

When Prowl laid Bumblebee back down he was shaking worse than ever, his ventilations ragged and raspy.

All Bumblebee could think of was how much that hurt like Shockwave's overload.

This was how Shockwave had said he would offline…

This would keep happening. And he couldn't shut-down for it. The attacks would get worse and…

"Ratchet what's happening, what is that virus?"

"That thing is going to overload his spark and cause it to flash out. It's the worst, cruellest, most agonising way to destroy a spark, and Shockwave has turned it into a veritable fine art. I've gotta beat this code, it keeps fluctuating, the machine can't keep up, I'll have to do it manually. Hang in there Bumblebee, please, just a little longer…"

Everyone settled down in the main room. Sentinel allowed Ironhide to perform some basic field repairs on his shattered shoulder armour in silence.

Optimus paced slightly, not weary enough to sit and too anxious to stay still. He couldn't get the image of Bumblebee out of his meta. He was so damaged… how had he even still been online? All that energon, and oil, some of it still staining his arms and chassis… Prowl had been even more covered in it. How was he still online?

Optimus wasn't sure that the silence from the direction of the med bay was good or bad. If Ratchet was yelling, then Bumblebee was in a critical situation…. But silent could mean he was too late to do anything…

The worry was wringing Optimus' spark and there was nothing he could do to ease it. And from the look on Bulkhead's face he felt exactly the same way. But neither of them dared disturb Ratchet and Prowl, they'd been told to keep clear unless called for, Ratchet needed to concentrate, and Prowl had to assist because he had been the one to extricate Bumblebee from his cell.

Optimus knew his recharge would be plagued by the images of Bumblebee writhing in pain, broken in his arms… he could only begin to imagine the horrific memories that might plague Prowl.

And neither came close to what Bumblebee himself would be dealing with.

If he survived.

Ironhide and Brawn watched solemnly as Optimus paced slowly. Ironhide hadn't seen Bumblebee up close but for a few glimpses.

Never… never even in their academy days would he have wished that fate on the sub-compact. On ANY-bot. He had visited the stockades once or twice… had seen what captivity, even the civil captivity of the Autobots had done to his once very witty and lively companion. His sense of reality had been shot to pieces. Wasp had gone mad… and after all of it, only joors ago Ironhide had found from this space-bridge unit that apparently, Wasp was innocent.

Bumblebee had sent the wrong mech to the stockades, but according to Bulkhead, he'd been played by the real spy, Longarm… A.K.A Shockwave.

Ironhide was still dubious about the whole story… if it were true… Ironhide thought he might just believe it… after all, Longarm, while he was an amazingly capable bot, had always seemed just a little… off to him… especially in regards to Bumblebee when they were all in boot camp. Longarm had gotten chummy with Bumblebee at one point, defending him from their jibes, but even as he did, Ironhide swore he could see loathing in the icy blue optics every time they fell on the yellow mech.

Ironhide had shrugged it off before. But now it stuck out in his mind like a sore bolt.

In any case… even though Bumblebee had been found online… after over an orn with those 'Cons… Ironhide sorely doubted the scout would ever be quite the same. It would be a miracle if he survived. It would be too much to hope he survived fully in tact.

The Jet Twins were slumped in a light recharge against the wall, unable to fight off their need for stasis time despite their own concerns over the retrieved scout. They barely knew him, true, but they both felt intensely involved in this whole affair, simply because they were both now forcefully reminded of their own situation, orns ago, when they had been so critically damaged and painstakingly re-assembled, re-built into their new forms. If allowed to, they wanted to stay and help him recover, knowing how painful a re-build was, wanting to put their experience to use… but that was assuming the medic could fix him the way they had been fixed. Neither of them, they realised, had been damaged through torture like that. Their injuries had been from an explosion. Quick, short, brutal, impersonal.

But the scout…

Maybe they couldn't help him…

They at least wanted to try…

They would have to discuss it with their superiors after they had recharged somewhat. Fighting that seeker had taken a lot out of them. He'd been a lot less chatty than that simulated Starscream, and a lot more wild. More easily distracted, true, and very quick to lose his focus when angry, but they had never fought an air battle so fast and furious before.

Just as they were both slipping into full recharge, a small noise outside half-roused the attention of all the bots present.

"Hey guys! I'm back from my trip with dad, so what's been… going… hey… what's with all the… and who're they… and…"

Sari had come bounding into the plant, cheery as ever. Every mech's optics had swivelled onto her, mostly with looks of blank shock and bewilderment. But in the case of Optimus and Bulkhead, there was also a measure of dread in their gaze.

Sari looked around the room, smile fading, replaced by uncertainty and confusion. Her brows knitted faintly, and finally she looked up into Optimus' blue optics.

"Where's Bumbleb-"

Every head snapped around as a loud scream echoed down the corridor to them from the med-bay. Ratchet's voice could be heard faintly as he instructed Prowl.

"Sari WAIT!" Bulkhead called, jumping to his feet, but she had already dashed down the hall. Optimus sprang after her.

With the use of her energon skates, she beat him there, and utilising her new found hybrid-cybertronian strength, she grasped the door and flung it open far enough for her to slip in.

What she saw pretty much stopped whatever she had in the way of a heart or spark (she still hadn't let Ratchet find out or tell her).

She couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

Prowl was staring at her with shock and devastation and stress torn across his features… she had never seen him look like that…

Ratchet had his back to her, on the other side of the med berth, working furiously on a piece of equipment with speedily scrolling cybertronian glyphs flashing up it's screen.

And on the berth… trembling and clicking faintly and barely recognisable…

"B-Bumblebee?"

He didn't seem to even hear her.

Optimus pressed the door the rest of the way open and leant down to pick Sari up and take her away, but he caught sight of the scout, lain across the berth, chest plate gone and spark exposed, and he stalled momentarily.

Even at this distance, he could see the worst of the damage. Decimated dermal plating, warped golden panels, gouges around the spark chamber… then as Optimus unstuck his joints and scooped Sari up, shielding her from the sight, he straightened and saw Bumblebee's spark itself.

He shuttered his optics and turned away, leaving without a word to the two team-mates who continued to work feverishly on saving the badly defiled mech.

Optimus had seen spark damage before, but only in educational text-files.

The sight of the dark blue scar across the flickering little white-blue orb sent a horrible sickening shiver down his back strut.

What have they done to him?

"Optimus?" Sari said very quietly, tentatively, sounding much more like she had before her upgrade.

The Prime cycled deeply and strode down the corridor, but towards his own quarters, not back to the rec. room.

"O-Optimus, what were they doing to Bumblebee? What happened, why was he… all… all messed up?"

Sari was trying to keep her voice steady, but as the shock wore off, the overpowering fear and dread set in.

Optimus entered his quarters with a sigh, levelling out his normally diagonal berth and setting her down, settling next to her with a sad and defeated expression.

"While you were away with your father, we were attacked by a new group of Decepticons." He explained quietly, trying to be a soothing presence but finding it doubly difficult when he himself was anything but calmed or assured by the sight he'd met in the med-bay.

Sari sat silently, her eyes pleading for his explanation.

"Bumblebee wasn't with us when they attacked. The four of us took them on, but they overpowered us. They were going to take us all hostage to get information from us on Megatron's whereabouts… but Bumblebee arrived before they could do that. He distracted them, fought them, defended us, but he was one against five… in the end he managed to convince them to leave the rest of us and just take him.

So that's what they did…"

Another scream echoed down to them and Sari couldn't hold in a sob.

"The D-Decepticons did that… to him?"

Optimus nodded solemnly, and continued, unable to meet her gaze.

"They… held him prisoner and asked him all we knew about Megatron and what had happened to him. Then they kept him… they were hidden, we couldn't find them. He was there for almost two earth weeks. We were only given their location this morning… we just got back from rescuing him…"

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you call me and say?" Sari asked, hurt and distraught, unable to hold back the tears now streaming down her face. Decepticons had been hurting her best friend for over a week and they hadn't even told her…

She stared at Optimus, incredulous, and he could only gaze back with intense regret and sorrow.

"We couldn't… you needed that time with your father, you needed to come to terms with yourself, with your changes… this had to wait until you got back, Sari, we never meant to hurt you. I am sorry."

Sari held his optics angrily, but the anger soon crumbled away into fear and she leant into his side, clutching his arm in her small, gangly hands, letting the tears flow.

"W-what's going to happen to him? Is… he going to be OK?"

"Ratchet is doing his best, and Prowl is helping all he can-"

Another scream, longer and more pained than the last, echoed chillingly through the corridor outside.

"We promised we'd save him… we'll do everything we can for him… absolutely everything."

Bumblebee's death-wish had come back full force within the space of a klik.

Once the electrical surges had broken his core firewalls, he had lost his tentative hold on reality again. All he knew was pain.

After each surge a deep ache settled on his circuits and he felt his spark flux wildly in protest as it attempted to pull itself back together. The positive and negative charges running through it in parallel jolts were pulling and pushing his spark in ways it wasn't meant to bend.

He had hoped never to feel anything like what Shockwave had done to him ever again… had hoped he could slip into the afterlife to escape the chance of it…

But primus now he was supposed to endure it to the death? He still didn't get it, what had he done, how did he deserve this…

Bumblebee screamed out a third time as the electric feedback arced right through his spark again. His sensors were nigh on redundant, that pain was the feeling of his very essence being messed with at a sub-atomic level. It was remarkable he was even still him, even as he felt his spark twisted and pulled by the currents, trying valiantly to settle back into it's unique pulse signature as the charge died again.

It was recovering, for now, despite the pain, but if this continued the charges would cause it to both expand and contract it's pulse frequencies at the same time, and it would tear itself apart.

Bumblebee had lost all control over his body, curling weakly into himself and twitching violently as another surge rent his laser core.

He keened in agony, Prowl trying to hold him still enough for the link to his chassis to remain uncompromised.

Ratchet was muttering to himself frantically as he poured his concentration into the machine and it's endless, flitting lines of code. Prowl couldn't make sense of any of it, but apparently Ratchet could… from the sound of it, he was chasing down the flux point in the data tracks, trying to find the point where the virus scrambled it's own message so that he could cut that section of coding clean out and attack the base, set programming, the stuff doing the real damage.

Bumblebee was clearly losing coherency, and Prowl couldn't blame him. He couldn't imagine how painful it would feel for energy to lance straight through one's very spark.

After the fifth surge, Bumblebee's physical systems began to glitch. His fuel pump made a very nasty whining sound, as he arched back with a gasp and a whimper. Then a rather nasty mix of fluids spilled across the berth. His waste tank outlets had malfunctioned again, just as they had under torture from the Motorcycle 'Con.

Bumblebee seemed to come back to himself as the surge subsided to make a noise of shame and disgust, turning his faceplate away from Prowl.

Prowl felt a lurch of intense pity. He shouldn't be reduced to this… furthermore he shouldn't feel ashamed for something he had no control over. Any mech would purge their waste tanks under that much physical strain.

Prowl grabbed a spare cloth from a shelf behind him and quickly and unflinchingly went about clearing up as much of the spent oil and energon as he could.

Soon, Bumblebee was curling in on himself again, jerking as waves of pain assaulted his spark, which flickered wildly in protest.

Prowl threw the dirty, soaked rag down into the small pool of purged, unprocessed energon on the floor before quickly cleaning his servos on a fresh rag. He rushed back to the berth side to stop Bumblebee from rolling over onto the cord still plugged into him.

The arcing energy seemed to attack him a little longer each time, and his cries became sharper, more broken. He was twitching less, his ventilations slowing drastically.

As what must have been the seventh surge wracked his frame, Bumblebee's engine could be heard under his cry of agony, straining to full torque and then sputtering out, stalling.

His ventilators worked erratically and his fuel pump seemed ready to give out, making sickening scratchy noises as it failed to find much left in Bumblebees reserves now his tanks were empty.

There was a lull after the eighth shock. Bumblebee went limp on the berth, shaking and wincing as small shocks continued to sting across his frame at random points where connections had been blown.

His ventilating was weak, shallow and unsteady. His optics flickered weakly as he tried to focus on something… he saw Prowl's anxious faceplate swimming fuzzily overhead as his spark gave a nasty throb and he whimpered.

Prowl looked intently at the small, more transparent ball of light with it's dark scar. It fluttered weakly, trying desperately to settle back into it's usual rhythm. Prowl had the urge to simply stick his hand in and shield it from the white-hot arcs of electricity that kept assaulting it within it's own shelter, but he knew better than to touch it. Touching a spark was something only bond-mates could do without causing harm to one another. A spark could transfer personal feelings and experiences without the need for a connection, simply by touch, but it was a bot's very essence… to touch it without permission, without a deep sense of trust between mechs could cause so much damage, in so many ways. A scarred spark was a testament to the worst kind of violation.

Why did he have to suffer that, after he took our place? After he saved us all from a fate like this …

"Ratchet?" Prowl voiced quietly, not needing to ask the question for the medic to understand what he wanted to know.

"Almost there." Ratchet said in quick, clipped tones. He wasn't angry or annoyed, merely concentrating exceptionally hard. He was so close…so close…

A flash startled Prowl as another electric arc surged violently through Bumblebee's spark, and the sub-compact's back strut snapped back, arching hard against the berth as he let out the worst, most energon curdling scream yet.

This one was definitely worse…

It seemed to go on forever. Prowl held Bumblebee's left servo, trying to give him some support, some ground, but it didn't seem like the yellow mech could even feel his touch, even though his digits were clenched hard around Prowl's palm.

Prowl felt a sick wave of panic… after 20 astroseconds, it still hadn't stopped. Bumblebee's scream had broken into desperate clicks and harsh sobs as he writhed in agony. He took several deep, ragged ventilations and his optics flickered on brightly. Prowl could see him struggling for coherency…

Please hold on, please hurry Ratchet, stay with us Bumblebee, please-

"R-Ratch-et… o-offlin-ne me…."

Prowl's processor went icily numb.

Ratchet spun so fast Prowl thought he might hit something. His optics looked completely unfocused, his uplink still connected to the machine and surging through the false data-trails to find the program apex.

Bumblebee fixed pain filled optics on the medic's faceplate as he continued to jerk and quiver from the shocks running through his laser core.

"Ple-ease Ratch-et… offline me, Please!"

Bumblebee grit his dentals and arched against the berth again before the surge finally cut off and he collapsed into a weak, shaking, clicking heap.

"Bumblebee… don't ask me that, please…. I can't…"

"Don't… don't make me… go through this. I can't d-do it anymo-ore Ratchet…"

Bumblebee twitched violently as a small shock lanced through his chamber briefly and he curled into himself with a few shaky sobs.

"Please Ratchet, I'm, hnnnnng… I'm begging you…"

Ratchet looked devastated as Bumblebee shuddered and broke eye contact, face-plate screwed up against another vicious throb from his spark.

"I Can't Bumblebee… I can't, I'm sorry… I'll fix this, I will, please… please hold on." the medic said desperately, vocaliser cracking as he turned quickly back to the screen with a determined yet terrified look in his optics.

He hated this part of the job… the moment where his closest team mates were on the edge of death, suffering horribly, begging for him to end their pain… but Bumblebee… never, he'd never thought, ever, that he would hear it from Bumblebee…

The scout let out static laced cries as the excruciating electrical surges started again.

He was still sobbing, begging Ratchet to end it.

I can 't fail you, I won't, I CAN'T, hold on Bumblebee, please just hold on, just a little bit more…

Bumblebee felt nothing but despair as Ratchet turned back to the machine, refusing to grant him the one mercy he so desperately needed.

"No… Ratchet… please, don't make me- HUUUUUUGHNNN!"

Overwhelming fire engulfed Bumblebee's spark, cutting him off from reality again.

Let me die, let me go, please, right now, let it stop, make it stop, please make it stop …

Bumblebee didn't know he was saying these thoughts aloud, whimpering them, then screaming again as the intense burning only got worse…

Oh primus, this was it… this had to be it… and in that nanoklik of realisation, everything seemed brought into sudden, sharp focus. His vocaliser seized as blinding agony consumed him… but through it everything was suddenly magnified, assaulting his sensors…

The smell of waste fluids and unprocessed energon, and of the clinical solvent Ratchet used to clean his tools…

The sound of Ratchet's joints as he moved ever so slightly, the crack in his voice as he yelled…

The sound of a bird outside somewhere, and cars passing on the highway…

The feeling of Prowl's firm grasp on his servo and the barely whispered words in his audio…

"Please don't go…not yet… it's not fair, you shouldn't have to… I promised I'd save you."

Bumblebee's optics flashed as another strong shock surged through him…

I don 't want to hurt them…

And then, quite suddenly, the pain stopped. The arcs of electricity died away and his spark flared briefly in relief before it staggered and struggled to regain it's normal frequency… Bumblebee wasn't sure if it could.

He felt all the energy drain from him and he collapsed against the berth, allowing the darkness to overcome his processor.

Ratchet's spark nearly stopped when Bumblebee's vocaliser cut out abruptly.

"NO!" he yelled, ripping through the code…

There…

Ratchet spotted it, at last… the coding apex. Not giving a slag about possible infection, he dropped his internal firewalls and pressed his own programming right into the machine, overpowering the rogue virus code and ripping it out of Bumblebee's systems, dragging it into a contained section of the external computer and eliminating it quickly with protection software.

Pulling his externalised protocols back and re-settling his processor, Ratchet disconnected from the console and spun around to confirm his fears…

He had heard the small scraping sound of Bumblebee falling completely limp on the berth as he removed the virus… but he had no idea if he had done it in time.

"He's… alive Ratchet… but barely." Prowl whispered as their gaze met.

Ratchet leant over the prone, mangled form, focussing intently on the spark chamber.

The white-blue orb fluttered weakly, so very translucent now, even it's dark scar was see-through. And burn marks on the inside of the shu casing were all that was left of the torturous, nearly fatal arcs of current that had been assailing him… killing him.

Ratchet quickly grabbed the energon feed and re-affixed it to the port on Bumblebee's neck. The small mech was in shock stasis, most of his systems completely shut-down from energy loss and trauma, saving his limited, weakened spark some strain, but he wasn't out of the woods yet.

Once Ratchet had removed the link to the viral elimination equipment, he closed up Bumblebee's spark chamber plating and connected a monitoring device to ports in his side, beneath his right arm.

Prowl helped him repair a few critical connections that had been blown by the energy surges, and they picked out all the glass from the circuitry above Bumblebee's spark chamber.

Once Ratchet was satisfied that Bumblebee was stable, he sent Prowl to go and get some rest.

Reluctantly, and with a last glance at the monitor showing the yellow mech's now steadied spark pulse (weak though it was), Prowl left to inform the others of Bumblebee's condition before he would head to his room for what he realised was some very much needed recharge.

He had gone on the rescue after a long hard searching shift after-all… he hadn't stopped worrying about the scout long enough to feel his own weariness though.

As Prowl walked slowly and wearily into the common room, Optimus and Bulkhead jumped to their feet, Sari now in Bulkhead's arms, her face still tear-stained.

Prowl glanced wearily into every pair of optics. "Ratchet got the virus… he's… he's stable for now."

Prowl swallowed, trying not to remember Bumblebee's pleas to Ratchet to end it only kliks ago…

The tension in the room deflated significantly and Sari draped her arms around Bulkhead's helm, fresh tears pouring down her face in relief.

Optimus strode over and squeezed Prowl's shoulder, looking like he might fall to his knees.

They shared a silent, still worried look. They both knew it was far from over for the scout. And Optimus didn't even really know the half of it.

"Thankyou Prowl. Get some rest, you deserve it. You kept your promise." He said quietly.

Prowl nodded and headed back down the corridor towards his quarters. If he wasn't so utterly spent, he didn't think he would have been able to shut-down. Even if he meditated twice as much as usual, he doubted his recharge would not be plagued with images of a broken, dying Bumblebee begging to be offlined for orns to come.

As Prowl entered his room, he went to his tree, leaning on it, feeling the silent yet solid presence of the organic giant.

He slid down to the floor, leaning heavily into it, and offlined his optics, letting the whisper of it's leaves fill his audios.

The last words of his old master floated through his meta, and he suddenly shuddered.

Have we saved you, Bumblebee? Or have we condemned you?

Chapter Text

Ratchet had an exceptionally hard time steadying his servos once Prowl left.

He ventilated hard, resting his palms on the berth edge and leaning hard against it to press some of the tension from his body.

Swallowing, he looked over the prone frame before him.

To say the Decepticons had made a mess of Bumblebee was the understatement of the stellar cycle.

The damage was inconceivable. And the worst part was Ratchet knew exactly how each dent and crack and injury had been inflicted. Just thinking about it made his tank churn sickeningly.

He was a professional however, despite his emotional attachment to his patient… his comrade… their unexpected hero.

The memory that Bumblebee had undergone all this torture in their stead certainly didn't help him pull himself together.

There was no way he could have known this was what he was getting himself in for …  he wouldn ' t have done it if he did, surely …  would he?

Ratchet offlined his optics briefly, pushing all his emotions aside. He had work to do, hard as it was, and he needed to focus, for Bumblebee's sake.

Onlining his optics again, he straightened and went about assessing what needed to be done first.

He noticed, as Prowl had, the disturbing trails of energon that leaked from inside and under the armour that had been welded back over Bumblebee's protoform. He set about undoing the welds so he could start on the deepest wounds that may be hidden underneath.

He started with the scout's helm. It had obviously been removed, crushed, reshaped roughly and shoved back on. It was only welded in one place, but it took Ratchet a few careful breems of peeling back dented-in sections before he could finally remove it without causing injury to the sub-compact's cranial plating or integrating circuit panels.

He gave a soft hiss of sympathy as he checked over the sensory and audio receptive antennae on Bumblebee's head which had been savaged during that brief comm. uplink they had managed 5 or so joors ago.

Ratchet had to suppress the swelling emotions the memory stirred to continue his work properly.

The sensory horn damage would have to wait, he had to find and repair critical internal damage first.

He next worked to remove the wrecked armour on the left shoulder. It did not at all cover the large hole, because it too had been sliced in the initial blow from the energy sword. Removing the mangled piece of armour did allow him better access to the wound however.

He had already repaired the damaged energon lines in the area with Prowl, but now he went about some finer detail, patching the oil lines and assessing the state of the joint itself.

The metal gimble mechanism had been dislocated. From how badly the parts had been scratched and dented, there would be no point fixing it, he would have to replace it, which was serious surgery.

It would have to wait though, because it wasn't as important as getting all of Bumblebee's lines reconnected so he could flush the old and contaminated fluids in his body and replace them.

He repaired the electrical current flow to the limb before setting some temporary struts to limit the joint's mobility, in case Bumblebee had to be onlined before he could do the replacement.

Ratchet highly doubted the scout would awaken from stasis on his own anytime soon. Not with the energy expenditure that the virus had caused him in his already severely weakened state.

He removed the dented, cracked guard on Bumblebee's other shoulder before moving onto his arm guards.

They definitely didn't feel right as he lifted them. Much like the small mech's helm, he had to spend careful kliks un-denting and unfolding warped metal to free the armour from the protoform without causing further harm.

He examined the integration panels on the protoform struts that were Bumblebee's arms, recognising the signs of sudden disconnection with disgust. Someone had just ripped the armour right off him. There was a lot of micro-circuit damage that would have to be fixed. But it too was non-critical at the moment.

Ratchet made a mental note to turn Bumblebee's pain receptors right down once he was done. The scout wouldn't be registering any of this in such a deep state of offline, but that would change once he was out of the danger zone. Ratchet was aware this was going to take a long time, and it was possible that by the time he could do no more, Bumblebee might just be closer to a state where he may come out of stasis on his own. Unlikely as this was, Ratchet didn't want the poor mech to be in anymore pain if he could help it.

Upon closer inspection of the arm guards he had removed, he discovered that Bumblebee's stinger mods had been removed.

…But not roughly.

It took Ratchet a disbelieving moment to recognise the significance of the mods removal showing no signs of being forced.

Only one mech would have taken them out with such precision… it looked as if he'd even been careful…

I ' ve already been paid, he ' d said …

It took all of Ratchet's self control and a long bout of growled profanities for him to ignore his discovery of Lockdown's involvement and continue his work.

He moved to Bumblebee's other extremities, removing his pede-guards carefully. They were some of the least abused metal parts on the scout. The parts that made up his front bumper when in alt mode were dented, a bit scratched, and the headlights were smashed, but other than that it was some of the only repairable damage so far. Ratchet knew that grudgingly, most parts of the yellow armour were wrecked beyond repair and would need replacement. It was weighing heavily on him, because they had limited resources on earth, and the further he got with his assessment, the clearer it was that he would have no choice but to request replacement materials from Cyberton. It wouldn't bother him so much if he thought the parts would come quickly, but there was no working space bridge in the sector, and the time it would take for a ship to make it to them would leave Bumblebee without armour and with still horrendously warped dermal plating for far too long.

If Ratchet wasn't already worried about the sub-compact's mental and emotional state, he would simply keep him in stasis until the necessary materials arrived… but he knew too well that left in his own processor for too long after what had happened to him… Ratchet would never force that trauma on him.

Finished with the removal of the lower leg armour, Ratchet went about fixing some of the dents and slight warps in the stabilising servo struts and knee joints. It was almost a relief to find some damage he could solidly work on. Once the energon lines and electrical relays were no longer compromised, he continued up, doing more extensive work on the mangled thigh armour.

Here Ratchet found it exceptionally hard to ignore his emotions once more. He was too experienced… knew all to well what every dent meant, what acts had been committed to cause them, his meta bringing up horrible, unspeakable and unwanted images of what must have happened, as told by the indentations, scratches and pierced wounds.

Trying his hardest to push away the musings on the dire evidence, Ratchet removed the yellow plating with as much care and precision as the rest of the armour, repairing some major line ruptures that had occurred underneath and patching some of the tears.

Once done, Ratchet carefully turned the scout over, making sure the energon line and monitoring cables were still secure, and worked on his back.

The scout's subspace carrier was missing, doubtless taken first thing by the Decepticons, but the thicker black and yellow base-plate and circuits to which it connected were more durable on the back than on any other part of the sub-compact's frame, save for the plating over his spark chamber.

Ratchet was stalling. He knew he was, not that Bumblebee's back-plating didn't need some repairs… there were deep puncture wounds and plenty of scorched, warped metal… he was just thankful the 'Cons didn't seem to have had an energon whip, or they doubtless would have used it… he shuddered at the thought as he continued to patch and replace fluid lines and wires and do quick re-solders to some major circuits. But it wasn't as if Bumblebee hadn't suffered a fate just as awful, if not more… the fact that Ratchet was yet to lay optics on the evidence of it didn't mean the small mech was any better off.

And he knew as he finished doing all he could on the back plating that there was no more putting it off. He had to assess the damage. He had to try and fix it… and the physical difficulty of it wasn't high, and he was much too old to feel uncomfortable about treating interface circuitry… but he was so close to this patient… it was the thought of seeing what had been done and images coming to mind, against his will, of Bumblebee suffering that kind of fate.

With a deep cycle and a shuddering sigh, Ratchet carefully turned the small bot over again and steeled his resolve.

He was a professional. He couldn't afford to think of his personal relationship working with the yellow mech. He couldn't afford to break down at the thought… no, the knowledge that they had violated him so badly, that they had broken all that was so very much the Bumblebee he knew.

Even as he reached careful servos to un-weld the warped yellow panel, memory files of Bumblebee's screams and pleads and sobbing merged with horrific imaginings of him struggling to escape as a filthy Decepticon…

NO, you CAN ' T think about that …

Ratchet clenched his denta and lay a hand on the top of Bumblebee's pelvic armour, spreading the scout's legs out slightly so he didn't catch them with the flame of the torch.

He began concentrating on opening the weld at the bottom of the panel, focusing intently on the task so his mind wouldn't wander to those horrible images again.

He didn't notice the whir of systems coming out of emergency stasis over the soft roar of the torch flame.

As he broke the weld seal, a mix of stale fluids began trickling out, having backed up under the plating.

One minute Ratchet was reaching to tilt the pelvic gimble up to drain the fluids, the next thing he knew, the frame on the berth was flailing and a loud, broken keen split the air.

Ratchet's hands flew back, getting the torch out of range of the kicking limbs as he tried to process just what was happening.

His eyes flew up to Bumblebee's faceplate, expecting to see his optics offline, thinking that it must be a trauma glitch… memory de-frag during stasis triggering a fit… but to his amazement and despair, the optics were online and blazing nearly white with panic.

Bumblebee scrambled desperately away with whines of pain and confusion and raw fear, optics locked, terrified, on Ratchet, before he slipped off the other side of the berth to the medic and landed with a small crash and a yelp.

He had disconnected the energon line, but the vitals monitor was still hooked up, cables draped over the berth to where the small mech had disappeared.

Ratchet edged carefully around the foot of the berth, not wanting to startle the panicking scout.

How the frag did he come out of stasis so soon? He should have been deep in shut-down for at least another cycle …

"It's OK, Bumblebee, it's alright, you need to calm down." he tried to soothe as he caught sight of the distressed mech.

Bumblebee had gotten his arm tangled in the monitor cables attached to his side, and was struggling weakly to free himself before his optics latched onto Ratchet again. He gave another frightened keen and scrambled weakly back against the underside of the berth, pressing himself into the small space with a desperate whimper, curling his limbs in to try and protect and cover his nearly completely naked protoform.

Ratchet knelt slowly, reaching out carefully to Bumblebee, who merely pressed himself back harder with a broken whine of terror.

Ratchet quickly retracted his hand and bit his lower lip component to try and stop himself from letting out an involuntary click of sorrow. This was not good…. Not good at all.

Ratchet remained perfectly still, the soft rattle of Bumblebee's quivering frame and his ragged ventilations the only sound in the room. The medic was searching the small mech's battered and still energon streaked faceplate. The nearly white optics were whirling in and out of focus in panic.

It was instantly clear to Ratchet that Bumblebee was not at all running on the same sub-routines as he had the last time he'd been conscious. His recognition protocols were either not functional… or they were simply being over-run by whatever programming had caused the scout to online in response to Ratchet's work on his pelvic armour.

His behaviour made perfect sense, knowing how Bumblebee had been treated by the Decepticons… knowing he had to have acquired some programming errors due to trauma, but this… if he could be dragged out of shock-stasis after massive spark exhaustion merely by contact with an overly abused part of his frame, then this was more than a few mere glitches that would re-write and re-code given time and care…

Ratchet swallowed dryly, optics fixed on the terrified silver faceplate as it twinged with pain, still not truly recognising him as a friend and not a threat.

Slowly, the red and white mech lifted a hand to the side of his helm, the small action still causing Bumblebee to flinch and whimper at the pain it caused.

Prowl …  Prowl?

The black and gold motorcycle had been in a fitful recharge, too exhausted not to offline, but too horrified by the events around saving Bumblebee to get any true rest.

He wasn't all that surprised, or bothered, when his light stasis was broken by a call over his comm. Link from Ratchet. It only took him an astrosecond to fully online and respond.

What do you need?

You, here, quickly. Came a short, anxious reply.

What's the matter? How is Bumblebee? Prowl asked, forcing himself to be calm as he slid off his berth and strode quickly to his door.

Awake… he's awake, but be prepared, he is in a state of trauma shock, and I don't think anyone but you can snap him out of it. Ratchet replied tensely, his voice low.

Why me? The ninja asked, slightly perplexed. What kind of shock could Bumblebee be in that he could fix it? Ratchet was the medic, if HE couldn't do it, what made him think a bot with no serious medical training could?

His recognition sub-routines aren ' t functional right now. You got him out of that cell, you might be able to trigger his safety protocols and get him properly lucid again. You have a better chance than me, and if I try and snap him out of it, he ' ll just panic and hurt himself worse.

Prowl wasn't entirely sure what state Bumblebee was in… he had no idea of the condition Ratchet was talking about, but he didn't ask any further questions of the medic, merely quickening his strides to the med-bay door, which he slid open slowly.

He thought he had at least prepared himself, but then he didn't know what for…

Certainly not the sight of Bumblebee with next to no armour on, curled up under the edge of the berth, cowering in abject terror with his optics wide and nearly white, flickering in panic between himself and Ratchet.

Prowl's instinctual reaction was as if he'd come across a wounded animal. He slipped into the room, closing the door carefully behind him before walking calmly and slowly over to the medic, who was still crouched near the end of the berth.

Ratchet gave him a pained, almost pleading look. Clearly it disturbed him as much as it did Prowl to see the scout in such a distressing state.

"Why did he come out of stasis?" Prowl all but whispered, keeping his eyes off Bumblebee so he would not aggravate the small mech's obviously uncontrollable fear of them both.

"He was fine while I un-welded the rest of his armour. When I started working on opening his panel to assess the damage, that's when I triggered it. I had no idea it would happen… I've never seen a case of trauma glitching as severe as to pull a mech back to online and kicking status after the kind of damage his frame and spark have taken. We need to stop the glitching and re-attach the energon feed before he hurts himself more. His spark still isn't entirely stable…" Ratchet's vocaliser was hoarse with tension as he glanced between Prowl and the cowering Bumblebee.

Prowl nodded in understanding and turned to lock optics with the terrified sub-compact.

He crouched and shifted onto his knees, leaning down until the tips of his fingers rested on the floor either side of his knee joints.

"Bumblebee?" he said softly, voice warm and soothing.

The small mech flinched and whimpered, drawing his limbs further into himself.

Prowl was unable to stop his gaze flickering all over the black and yellow protoform. It was so very damaged… he had never seen a mech who looked so fragile … But there was no way Bumblebee was fragile if he had sustained all those injuries and was still online.

Prowl noted the sight and smell of rancid lubricant, energon and oil that seemed to be seeping from the small break in the weld Ratchet had managed on the last of the yellow armour. It was the same as the puddle that had collected beneath the scout where he had been fettered against the wall of his cell. Prowl shuddered to think Bumblebee had been made to endure that stuck inside his plating… not that it seemed to be high on the sub-compacts list of problems right now.

An acute and intense pang of pity lanced through Prowl's spark when he crept a little closer and Bumblebee weakly scrambled back, keening brokenly, faceplate petrified.

"Bumblebee, it's me… I'm not going to hurt you, no one's going to hurt you anymore, we're going to help…" Prowl soothed low and calm again, his voice betraying only a little of the hurt he felt to see those still nearly white yet familiar optics fixed on him with no recognition.

Prowl moved forward at an agonisingly slow pace.

When he was within a foot of the still quivering scout, he stopped, gaze still taking in the deep dermal plating injuries before he locked optics with the frightened bot again, still pressed hard into his corner.

"Bumblebee, I got you out, remember? I came in and I got you off that wall and out of that cell, and I took you away from the Decepticons… please trust me, I'm not going to hurt you, I'd never hurt you. Please remember."

Prowl saw the smaller mech's quivering lessen slightly as he talked, but kept his optics fixed on Bumblebee's.

The over-light optics stared back unfalteringly, rasping ventilations not slowing.

Prowl continued to murmur a few soft reassurances to Bumblebee, not moving an inch though his joints began to protest slightly.

Eventually, after at least two Kliks of tense, unresponsive fear, a spark of recognition seemed to recolour Bumblebee's optics slightly. His ventilations slowed, quieting a little.

Prowl very slowly and tentatively raised a servo and stretched it out, palm up.

Bumblebee flinched slightly, optics darting to the servo warily, but Prowl pressed on. He touched his fingertips lightly to the dented black arm strut nearest him.

Bumblebee's quivering worsened again and he let out a small whimper, shuttering his optics.

Prowl very gently pressed his palm flat to the side of Bumblebee's arm, holding it there merely as a warm point of contact.

There was another Klik of silence as the sub-compact shook, optics shuttered, tense as though waiting for a blow to fall, but it didn't come.

But Prowl was still touching his arm…. And suddenly rather than the blinding absolution of fear that he was going to be violated and tortured in some way again, Bumblebee felt a pressing need for that warm, calm, soothingphysical contact.

It's Prowl…

Prowl is safe.

Once the irrational fear drained away, Bumblebee was flooded with sensory information.

His form un-tensed and with a weak moan he nearly collapsed onto the floor.

Prowl quickly and carefully slid forward, wrapping his arms protectively around the shivering protoform as Bumblebee let out a few involuntary clicks against the pain riddling his systems, curling tight in the encircling hold.

He could feel he wasn't supposed to be online… his body wasn't up to this, but he couldn't shut it down, not when… not after…

"It's alright, don't move him yet…. Let his processor adjust. As long as he's calmed down, he's not in any immediate danger."

Bumblebee didn't unshutter his optics at the sound of Ratchet's relieved voice.

He couldn't look at the medic. He couldn't look at Prowl either. He was all but naked, quivering, weak and in an uncomfortable amount of pain. And Prowl was holding him like a sparkling… but why did he care? Why was he so ashamed after he'd been violated so many times and accepted his fate so long ago already? How was he still even online?

Bumblebee's memory core was slow to provide him any answers….

After he had been sure… the darkness had taken him and he thought his spark had failed, hadn't he offlined? Had he just passed out?

No …  no because you can ' t offline anymore, because you couldn ' t stand not knowing if those  ' Cons did something to you, so you stopped going into stasis properly …  and you felt Ratchet fixing you, you just didn ' t know, but it was starting to hurt less, so you didn ' t pay attention …  until …  until you felt something …  until he started trying to get under your panel …

The flood of bad memories relating to his interfacing circuitry and what had been done to it… to him…all the shame and pain and anger and the feeling of being so tainted, so filthy, it all slammed back into him.

He felt a pathetic whine escape him, wishing he was anywhere but in the presence of his team-mates, wishing he could crawl into some dark hole where no one had to witness his weakness, his disgusting, wretched, worthless form…

how could they even stand to look at him? How could Prowl stand to touch him?

Bumblebee was shivering violently again, and from the hitching sounds of his vents Prowl could tell he was holding back sobs, and fighting hard to do it.

Bumblebee weakly pressed his hands to Prowl's chest-plate, trying to push him away, but despite the black and gold bot's wish to comply with whatever the scout wanted in his broken state, something made him stay. Somehow he sensed more than thought that he really shouldn't let Bumblebee go at that moment. It wasn't hard to resist the feeble struggles, even though he felt slightly guilty about the small whimpers of pain from the distraught mech aggravating his own injuries in his struggle. To compensate, Prowl put a servo on the back of Bumblebee's head and lightly stroked the dented metal, knowing the sensors in that area would be extremely receptive to soothing touches without a helm to mask the signals.

He was right. Bumblebee stopped struggling and tensed for a few astroseconds before he shuddered and curled into a tight and slightly less quivering ball in the ninja's arms again.

Bumblebee couldn't hold it back anymore, even if he wanted to. He sobbed, very quietly, clicks rapid but barely audible as his ventilations were forcibly slowed by the soothing touches near the base of his cranium.

The sensors lit up with a sensation he hadn't felt in what seemed like forever, drowning his stress like a drug and weakening his emotional threshold.

Some of the Decepticons had used pleasure as a precursor to pain, but their touches had been different. This wasn't sexual. It was the kind of comforting touch he remembered from his creators. It seemed like such a long time ago… even though he was quite young by cybertronian standards, it still felt like a whole other lifetime since he'd experienced a touch like that…

It was meant to be comforting, and on one level it was, but on another, that comfort weakened his mental capacity for holding back the things he knew would only hurt to think about.

As unwanted memories of his own defilement and helplessness surged to the surface, making him gasp and sob at the strength of the ache from them in his spark, he both wanted to be left alone and for Prowl to not let go of him or stop soothing him for a very long time.

The strength of his emotions and pain and confusion overwhelmed and exhausted him. He felt like something should happen to stop it, like it was a leak that needed to be plugged somehow, but whatever was supposed to happen just… didn't.

"From the readings on that monitor, he should be shutting down into stasis again…" Ratchet murmured softly, sounding both worried and confused.

"But he's not." Prowl replied quietly with an anxious grimace, not loosening his hold or stopping the light soothing strokes on the back of Bumblebee's head.

Ratchet frowned as well. "That's not right at all…. But I'm not going to be able to check it out for a while. I don't want to do anything until he's ready, but he does need that energon feed or it'll stress his spark too much."

Prowl nodded slightly and shifted his gaze down to the black and yellow form in his arms.

Bumblebee had his optics shuttered tight, but his soft, desperate sobbing told that all was not well in his meta. It struck Prowl that perhaps he was in some sort of waking nightmare… he had not been himself upon onlining, and it was very possible the shock-trauma had forced memories of his ordeal to the surface. Surely it was too soon for him to have to deal with such things… Prowl decided a distraction was probably best.

"Bumblebee?"

The small mech's sobs and ventilations hitched slightly, but Bumblebee didn't look up or stop shaking, or give any other sign of acknowledgement.

"I'm going to put you on the berth again, is that alright?" he asked softly, never once stopping the soothing strokes on the dermal plating above the scout's neck column.

Bumblebee tensed and shook his head slightly, curling further into himself with a quiet yelp that he tried to stifle.

Prowl felt him stiffly and slowly move his left shoulder. It was clearly not meant to be used at the moment as it was set rigid with temporary struts and not completely repaired. Even Prowl knew at close range from one glance that the whole joint would need replacing… but until then, it seemed to be causing Bumblebee a lot more pain than he was showing.

"Do you want to move so you're more comfortable?" Prowl pressed gently, wanting to at least get a verbal response from Bumblebee, just to be sure his processor wasn't still somewhere beyond them at the moment.

Bumblebee hiccupped once or twice before his thin, raspy voice came out, shocking Prowl by how unlike the scout it sounded.

"If… if you don't want t-to touch me… I understand…"

Prowl's soothing servo faltered and stilled for a moment before he moved it around to the side of Bumblebee's faceplate and softly angled his head up so it wasn't buried in Bumblebee's arms.

The sub-compact still wouldn't unshutter his optics. His expression was one of self-disgust and shame.

"Why would I not want to touch you when you need my help and I promised it?" Prowl asked gently, unable to keep the hurt from his tone.

Bumblebee's faceplate scrunched up slightly. "Because I'm… just a filthy 'Con left-over…I wouldn't want to touch me… I'm disgusting".

The quiet but vehement answer shocked Prowl. He couldn't tell over Bumblebee's quivering if his own frame wasn't shaking as well. The self-loathing in the smaller mech's voice lanced painfully to his core.

"How can you say that? How can you think that Bumblebee, you're nothing of the sort…nothing that those Decepticons did to you was right, none of it was your fault."

"Doesn't matter, I'm not… good for anything… I couldn't even… keep them off…I'm… I was never… made for anything useful… except…"

The words were there, In his CPU, and Bumblebee knew that he'd denied it all his life, he was just a pleasure bot trying to pretend he could be something better… but he couldn't. He knew it now, yet he still wasn't able to admit it out loud, bring himself to say it, even though he knew it, and why didn't they? Why had they let him go along thinking he could be something else?

His whines and clicking came on anew and he still wouldn't open his optics, he still couldn't bare to look them in the face and see the confirmation that they all saw what he was now and couldn't treat him as an equal again.

They ' ll stop caring once they realise I ' m no good at it too, maybe then they ' ll wish they ' d just let me offline …

"Don't you dare Bumblebee… don't you DARE say that."

Bumblebee was so shocked by Prowl's almost frightened, harsh tone that he finally unshuttered and blearily onlined his optics. He couldn't understand why Prowl seemed angry with him when he was only telling the truth. It wasn't possible to ignore it anymore, not to him… and to gauge what the ninja bot was taking offence at, he needed to read his expression.

Prowl's hand was firm on the side of his faceplate, sending unpleasant anticipative signals through his sensors… touches like that had generally been followed by harsh blows to the head in recent joors, and he flinched when he saw Prowl's hurt, horrified face, the paranoia of his sensors heightening further.

Prowl sensed his body language and the fear that passed through the pale optics as they finally, dully onlined.

Prowl's surge of emotion quickly plummeted with Bumblebee's sharp flinch from his touch.

There was so much more wrong with the scout than he had expected. He knew Bumblebee would be hurting… would likely struggle to come to terms with the ordeal he had just suffered, especially being violated so deeply by violent, cold mechs…

But never…never had he imagined they had broken the poor mech's very core… the Bumblebee he knew, the over-confident, invincibly unaffected, ever up for doing as he pleased mech was gone… and what was left? This… scared, beaten creature who for some reason thought that he'd deserved his suffering because he hadn't been strong enough to prevent it? How did he think the blame rested with him? If anything, Prowl had been expecting Bumblebee to lash out at them for failing to help him in time after he had worked so hard to save them… and Prowl would have accepted that blame willingly.

But no… the reality was much more frightening. For Prowl was finding just how deeply the Decepticons had ripped into the smaller bot, tearing up not only his body, his dignity, his innocence and his very spark, but the very essence that was fundamentally Bumblebee.

For Primus sake, Bumblebee wasn't angry with them… if anything he seemed… terrified of them. Frightened by his own team-mates. What did he think they would do to him? Prowl wasn't even sure he wanted to know.

"Why… why do you think… how could you possibly believe you are anything less than an invaluable companion? Without you we would all be at the mercy of those… how can you believe you are useless when it is only because of you that we were saved from them?" Prowl vented out, vocaliser hoarse as he continued to stare anxiously into Bumblebee's dim optics.

The small mechs optics flickered with fatigue. "But… I am… what have I ever done, before now, that I was ever good at?… I was useful because I was just a distraction, bait… and I was useful to the Decepticons just because… I am what I am… I just never wanted to accept it… but everyone who ever said it was right, I'm just a… a…"

Bumblebee's faceplate was scrunched up again in disgust and anguish, and he was still unable to voice it, but Prowl silenced him anyway by pulling him into his chassis and cradling his faceplate into the crook of his neck, as if he actually didn't want to believe what the scout was saying.

"No…. no, Bumblebee how could you listen to them? They're Decepticons, you can't trust a word they say, certainly not after what they've done to you. You're so much more than them… what they did to you was so wrong, you are not some… you are not an object, you are a living, thinking, feeling spark, and you are so much better than them."

Bumblebee shuddered again. "It wasn't just the 'Cons who said it… plenty of bots saw it… I never listened, I wouldn't believe it… it was always going to catch up with me, how could it not? You can't… be something you aren't… you can't pretend you aren't what you were built for." the scout muttered bitterly, exhaustedly into Prowl's neck cables, ventilations still ragged, shallow and uneven.

"No mech or femme was ever built for what you've been subjected to Bumblebee." Ratchet growled somewhere to the scout's right.

"I shouldn't have been so surprised when it… happened, though." Bumblebee replied quietly, his shaking lessening as the energy of fear left him and sick depression set in. He was so tired, but his CPU still refused to shut down. And he knew even if it went into emergency forced stasis again, it would online the moment Ratchet attempted to continue his work, as Bumblebee knew he would… it wouldn't matter how little energy he had or how much it hurt his processor to do it. His coding simply couldn't allow him to let the medic anywhere near his interface circuits without him being absolutely and horribly aware of what was being done to him.

"That is not something you should ever expect or need to anticipate… Bumblebee, you're in pain, please let me help you, you will start to feel a little better when you aren't hurting so much. None of us want you to feel like this when we owe you so much. I know it's not going to be easy, and I don't want to ask you to go through anymore, but I promise, you'll feel better once I fix you." Ratchet pleaded softly, glancing at the worrying readings scrolling benignly across the monitor on the other side of the berth. The energon feed that had been supplying fuel to Bumblebee's tanks while Ratchet worked had been a slow trickle, and already the small mech's over-taxed systems had burned through the meagre amount and his spark readings were looking unstable again.

Prowl felt the anxiety like a physical field emanating from the bot in his arms. Clearly the prospect of Ratchet continuing his work didn't appeal to Bumblebee in the slightest.

Prowl was somewhat surprised that after a tense silence, Bumblebee nodded faintly, shaking in a way that suggested he was terrified by his own compliance.

In Bumblebee's mind, the decision had been intensely difficult. The mere suggestion by Ratchet that he allow them to get him back on the berth and lay there while the medic poked through his ravaged interface circuitry… caused a rush of panicked fear and dread through his CPU and his spark cringed. He had not so much forced himself to remain calm and not thrash in protest at the memory files the thoughts evoked, but simply didn't have the strength to act out his blind distress.

Which gave his processor time to latch onto Ratchet's promise to stop the pain…

And that was the one thing that really penetrated the fear. The promise of relief from the agony, and oh was he in agony. He wasn't even sure how he was speaking to them coherently really… half of the stuttering of his vents was from emotional turmoil… the more violent or sharp intakes and clicks had been in response to spikes in pain. His shoulder was the most excruciating by far, but the absolute ache under his panel wasn't anything to be ignored either.

This then was the only thing that made him nod his head.

He also realised, as Prowl pulled back and gently made to lift him, that he was extremely weak thanks to the lack of energon and the fact he should, technically, be offline.

He couldn't hold back a sharp bark of static as he was lifted and his midriff uncurled, the heat-warped, brittle dermal plating cracking and scraping against sensor nodes.

Bumblebee blacked out for a few astroseconds, and when his optics hurriedly powered up, Prowl was leaning over him as he lay on the berth, looking extremely worried and even a little scared.

Bumblebee groaned at the dull after burn of the scraped and over-sensitised nodes around his middle.

His ventilations eased and evened slightly as he realised the energon feed was already affixed once more to the inlet at the base of his neck column.

His systems felt a little less strained with the fresh fuel steadily trickling into him, but the pain continued to throb across his sensors.

Prowl was standing on his left, leaning over and extremely carefully untangling his right arm from the monitor cables.

Ratchet was facing away from him, picking tools out of his organiser that he needed. The scene brought back recent cache files… Bumblebee remembered suddenly what he'd been doing the last time he was conscious.

He thought he would offline for sure… but… somehow, Ratchet had saved him.

Even after he'd begged him to end it. The very thought of that made Bumblebee's spark ache, and he wasn't quite sure if it was shame from asking, or regret that Ratchet hadn't done it.

Whatever the case, his fuzzy, overwhelmed and over-burdened processor was slowly bringing him to the realisation that he would not be escaping the nightmare his existence had become… and he would just have to grit his denta and bear it.

The prospect of this seemed… bearable, given he was no longer in Decepticon custody, and Ratchet had promised to fix him and stop the pain.

But when Ratchet turned back to him and came to the side of the berth, he started recalling why he had been eager for an end.

Ratchet was looking hesitant, optics flickering between him and Prowl as the black and gold mech stood straight and grasped Bumblebee's left servo carefully.

Where Bumblebee may have found the gesture weird and inappropriate before this whole mess, he found himself readily accepting and clinging to the contact in the face of the looming memory files he knew were waiting to return. He could suppress them as he lay there, unfettered any longer and surrounded by familiar, safe things… but he knew… he knew the moment Ratchet started his work, he wouldn't be able to escape them. He desperately, desperately didn't want to remember any of it.

"If you need me to stop Bumblebee, at any time, just say so. I'm going to turn the pain receptors right down below your waist components, so it shouldn't hurt much at all. Are you ready?"

Bumblebee tried to stop the violent shaking that had taken over his whole frame, and his optics shone pale at Ratchet once more. "C-can't you… use your EMP on all of me?" he asked weakly.

Ratchet looked back regretfully. "Not with your spark so weak, no, it could do irreparable damage to your sensory array, I'm sorry."

Bumblebee merely swallowed and nodded weakly before leaning his head back and off lining his optics, his shaking not subsiding.

He felt Ratchet place the nozzle of his EMP generator against his side above his hip, and a gentle, blissful pulse thrummed down his leg struts from his midriff.

He felt himself relax against his will as his pain considerably lessened. The dulling of sensory information from his lower half brought his upper body injuries into sharper focus, but he still found it more bearable.

As soon as he felt Ratchet's hand gently rest on his pelvic armour however, he tensed and grit his denta.

The first memory flashes surged up…

Spitter touching him softly before ripping into his spike… Cyclonus resting his thruster just on the surface of his armour before igniting it… Blackout holding him down before he…

Bumblebee made a tremendous effort to force the memories down.

It ' s Ratchet, he ' ll fix it, he ' ll make the pain stop, he won ' t hurt me, he won ' t do that, he won ' t …

The soft roar of the torch flame started up, and Bumblebee barely detected the heat against his numbed, damaged sensors.

Spitter ' s touches …

Cyclonus '  afterburners …

Bumblebee drew in a shaky ventilation as Ratchet moved his legs out a little.

Blackout holding him down, forcing his legs open …

It was all the yellow mech could do to stop himself snapping them shut again, but the knowledge of a torch flame there that would burn him forced him to remain still.

Ratchet began to widen the gap in the weld that he had already made. Most of the rancid fluids had drained away as Bumblebee had been curled up on the floor in Prowl's arms. Prowl.

Bumblebee focused on the servo holding his own. He couldn't remember ever focussing so much on one single part of his body or someone else's in his life-stream.

Prowl felt the tightening of Bumblebee's servo around his own as the smaller mech lay quaking, optics offline, obviously fighting very hard to hold himself together.

The black and gold mech had never imagined any bot in this position… he'd never imagined he would be the one there to comfort them… never imagined he would feel so desperately anguished for another… and certainly never thought it would be Bumblebee who's servo he was grasping while the scout suffered like this.

He couldn't stop himself from being amazed that Bumblebee was showing such strength though. He knew the yellow mech likely didn't think he was showing anything but weakness, but Prowl had seen ninja-bots in training undergoing only physical pain, and less of it, and not at all able to stop themselves vocalising or panicking. And that was after they had meditative training, something Bumblebee didn't have.

He was shaking rather violently though, but all Prowl could do was offer comfort.

Ratchet tried to work quickly and carefully. It was both relieving and terrifying for him when all too soon, he had finally completely un-welded the ruined yellow panel.

Compulsively swallowing, he steeled himself and gently removed the yellow piece of armour.

It was… not as bad as he had expected, seeing the damage on the surface. A hard shiver ran through Bumblebee before he tensed again, optics still resolutely turned off.

The spike housing and valve were both streaked with the same rancid fluids that had drained out, some oil and old energon had caked up in a dark and irksome fashion in Bumblebee's spike housing and some of the scratches around his valve entrance, but he had expected that. The flexible platelets that lined the rim of the port opening were severely torn and self-repairs had obviously been unable to keep up…

which was a rather ominous sign of just how often Bumblebee had suffered violation during his capture. The spike was locked in it's housing, but the thin, recognisable trail of particular electrolytic pressure fluid that seeped from the recess worried Ratchet. He glanced up at Bumblebee again, but the scout was holding strong, and Ratchet felt intensely proud of him for even getting this far without panicking.

Prowl was focussing only on Bumblebee's face, affording him some courtesy by not watching Ratchet work on his intimate circuitry.

He'd probably make an excellent medic with the right training… the stray thought in Ratchet's CPU crossed quickly before he forced himself to concentrate on the daunting task at servo.

Keeping a steadying hand on Bumblebee's pelvis, he picked up a small, thin, soft surfaced implement and began cleaning away the fluids.

Bumblebee twitched several times, but still somehow he kept himself silent.

It ' s not Spitter, or Oilslick, it ' s Ratchet, he ' s not going to hurt you, he ' s going to fix it, he ' s going to make it stop hurting …

The yellow mech repeated the mantra in his processor, as loudly as he mentally could to drown the blurring images of Decepticons pressing against him, touching him there, ripping into him, forcing themselves, forcing their filthy energy…

Don ' t think about it, don ' t …

Bumblebee squeezed harder on Prowl's servo, but the grasp was too weak to hurt the other mech.

"It's alright, you're doing alright, Ratchet knows what he's doing, you'll be okay." Prowl murmured soothingly, thumb running slowly and distractingly over the base of Bumblebee's own thumb joint.

Ratchet was intensely thankful for Prowl's presence. Seeing the damage as he was and wrapping his processor around fixing it without thinking about how it was caused, he just didn't think he'd be able to offer Bumblebee the comfort and support he needed right then.

Once he had cleaned away as much solid surface gunk as he could, he decided it would be best to assess the damage to the spike unit sooner rather than later.

Bumblebee's steady shivering had lulled him into a false sense of stability. The moment he pressed two fingers to the cable releases either side of the spike housing, the small mech reacted badly.

Bumblebee had been focussing intently on Prowl's soothing touch, the slow motion of his digit on the back on his thumb joint, his strong but comfortable grip, the warmth of his palm and even the slight thrum of energon in the ninja-bot's lines. He had just managed to forget where he was and what was happening…

And then he'd felt the pressure on either side of his spike housing.

No, not again, not that, primus not that, please!

Bumblebee kicked out, and the hand on his pelvis immediately relinquished. As he scrabbled weakly against the berth with a static laced whimper.

It was just as well he was too weak to really react, or he was sure he may have repeated his panic attack of only a few breems ago and fallen off the berth again.

As it was, he quickly tuned into the fact that Ratchet had drawn away when he kicked out, and Prowl's voice penetrated his fear clouded processor even as images of Oilslick taking out his cord and defiling it as a means of torture played horribly clearly through his meta.

"It's alright Bumblebee, he won't hurt you, no one's going to hurt you, it'll be alright..."

Bumblebee's vents hitched several times as he struggled to control himself. Focussing on the low, soothing vocals and the still steady grip on his left servo, he managed to stop himself from struggling.

He had tried to clamp his legs shut, but the numbing of sensors from the waist down also meant loss of power to the tension cables and hydraulics in his legs. His kicks had been weak, un-aimed flails, and now he couldn't even pull his legs up towards him to shield himself.

He whimpered again in distress, optics onlining to stare, pale and unmoving, at the ceiling.

"It's OK Bumblebee, I won't do anything until you're ready. Take all the time you need." Ratchet said gently, moving up the berth and into the scout's line of sight.

Bumblebee had no choice but to let his legs go limp in exhaustion and pain as his aggravated midriff plating throbbed, claiming his attention. He groaned and his optics dimmed, but he didn't offline them.

"Are you sure you can't relieve the rest of his pain any other way Ratchet?" Prowl asked a little desperately, reading the yellow mech's body language.

"I wish I could Prowl, but I can't use sedatives on a bot with a weakened spark condition, and I can't put him in stasis because his protocols have changed in a way that seems he can't stay offline. If there are any other medically sound options, I don't have the necessary means here." Ratchet explained sadly.

Bumblebee found that their conversation helped him to drag himself out of his memory purge easier.

As he stilled, his sensors stopped flaring so much and the pain reached a bearable level once more.

His ventilations were still shallow and uneven, but he managed to shutter his optics a few times and attempt to pull himself together.

I ' m in Ratchet ' s med-bay, I ' m safe, he ' s not going to hurt me, he ' s going to fix me …

Even as he started up his mantra again, shame began to trickle in. It was just medical, and he knew that. Why after everything he'd been through was he so pathetic now? This… this was nothing compared to his torture, and he wasn't with the Decepticons anymore, it wasn't going to happen, so why couldn't he just get over it already instead of reacting so badly just from Ratchet touching him, when in reality he knew it was nothing like what the 'Cons had done.

"I'm OK R-Ratchet…" he managed to croak quietly. The two other mechs looked down at him with deep concern etched in their faceplates and optics.

"Are you sure Bumblebee? We can take a break if you need to, that's perfectly alright." Ratchet said gently.

"No… please, just… I want to get it over with." Bumblebee replied weakly, looking away from their anxious gazes and staring at the ceiling again.

"If you're sure…" Ratchet said quietly, taking the resolute, hard look in Bumblebee's optics as his definitive answer. "I can tell you what I'm doing, if it will help you brace yourself." He offered as he took up position and very carefully re-arranged Bumblebee's legs so he could work. Prowl was still resolutely and respectfully keeping his eyes diverted from anywhere but Bumblebee's face, and he didn't miss the shameful look in the scout's optics as he glanced fleetingly at him and away again.

"Yea… OK…" Bumblebee replied meekly, hating how his vocaliser wavered.

That was another thing… he had suffered worse than this, but for some reason he was still mortified by his team-mates seeing him like this… as if they didn't already know what had been done, as if Ratchet himself couldn't see the evidence right in front of him, and now Prowl was witness to the dictation of this examination. And why did he care when he really had no dignity left to lose?

Bumblebee stopped thinking about all this as soon as Ratchet spoke.

"I'm going to un-recess your spike Bumblebee." he explained gently, yet somehow still clinically.

Bumblebee swallowed and winced, his shuddering renewing as one of Ratchet's servos steadied his pelvis again before the other very gently took the tip of his cord between his thumb and two main digits.

As the experienced medic carefully drew Bumblebee's spike out from it's housing, the small yellow mech couldn't help letting out a whimper of discomfort. Even with his sensors numbed, the pain wasn't completely shut out, and his cord was… bad. Worse than when it had been left un-recessed and had his panel pressed against it to keep it that way. Being forced back into it's housing and left with a build-up of various stagnant fluids, the inner cable was badly degraded and the sensors in the sheathing eroded. Bumblebee knew if it were being touched without the effects of the EMP, he would be screaming in agony. As it was, it wasn't so much pain that made it feel bad, as the sensation of utter wrongness… it was essentially completely ruined, and it was like a dead piece of circuitry tacked clumsily onto his frame.

What irked Bumblebee most was not the memory files still threatening the edges of his focus, but the feeling of Ratchet's servos shaking very slightly as he carefully laid down the mutilated spike once it was fully exposed.

Movement caught Bumblebee's optics, and he couldn't help but gaze down past his own chassis to see Ratchet with his head bowed and optics off. He shook his head slightly as if in utter disbelief. The medic had removed his hands from Bumblebee's frame again, and the scout realised he was pressing them hard into the berth to try and stop their shaking.

One look at his own spike and Bumblebee realised why Ratchet seemed so uncharacteristically un-nerved.

The blue-ish fluid that usually pressurised and aided the conductivity of sensory charges inside the cable sheathing had leaked and drained completely from Oilslick's dissections. It had gone dark and caked the edges of the gashes in the silicone-like outer insulation, and the mix of stale energon, oil and lubricant had gotten in, making a horrible, disgusting mess of the conductive wires that made up the core of the spike. Bumblebee couldn't see the connector hub on the tip of his cable at the angle he was lying, but a sluggish internal systems scan of the equipment (that he was surprised he could still run) told him it had basically been crushed and malformed by Oilslick to the point of being utterly dysfunctional.

Bumblebee looked away, shut off his optics and swallowed hard in an effort to quell the sick feeling in his tanks.

He didn't want to think of how that defiled piece of junk was still physically attached to him. It just reminded him that his spike had gotten off relatively lightly.

Suppressing thoughts about the state of his port was significantly harder as there were many more memories of it's abuse clamouring for his attention, and even glimpses of them made him utter a small, nearly imperceptible whimper. He just wanted this to be over so he wouldn't have to think about it.

Bumblebee's very soft noise of distress snapped Ratchet out of the horrified shock he'd succumbed to at the sight of the severe damage done to such a sensitive and personal part of his patient.

It was not so much just the devastatingly bad damage to the unit ( and he had no doubt it was unrepairable and would need full replacement) that caused him to have to stop his work for a moment… but the very thought of the ways in which the damage had been inflicted made the red and white mech's tanks churn sickeningly.

He couldn't work with shaking servos either, and he felt ashamed that he was letting Bumblebee down by stopping like this… because he couldn't be the professional the vulnerable bot needed, faltering because of the mere idea of what had caused his unspeakable injuries.

The sound from Bumblebee, soft as it was, snapped him back to reality, and he instantly pulled himself together, picking up another cleaning tool like the first he had used and beginning his work on the unsalvageable cable. The least he could do was halt the corrosion and seal the sheathing breach so the useless hardware wouldn't give Bumblebee anymore discomfort until he could procure new parts for him.

Bumblebee tried hard to ignore the distinctly strange and uncomfortable feeling of his damaged spike being cleaned from the inside out.

Once again, Prowl was his distracter, and Bumblebee clung to his servo, focussing on it entirely.

Prowl seemed to realise this, and continued his steady gentle strokes with his thumb, murmuring words of reassurance whenever Bumblebee flinched or shuddered, noticing Bumblebee's ventilations calm a little each time he did.

If only I could make him see how extraordinary he is, surviving this, coping, fighting so primus damned hard …  how could he think he failed anyone? How can he believe he is useless? How did WE let it come to this? It ' s not his fault, none of this is his fault, he NEEDS to understand that.

"Ok, Bumblebee, I'm just going to be a bit longer, I need to seal the wounds, then I'll retract your spike." Ratchet explained gently, setting down his cleaning implements and picking up a bonding agent applicator.

Bumblebee onlined his optics dimly and nodded shortly. Ratchet set to work, and while his spike had ceased it's consistent, low level ache, the dead sensor network wasn't a much more preferable sensation, muted though it was by the EMP effects.

"You can't fix it… can you?" Bumblebee asked softly, tone dead and impartial.

"No, I'm sorry. I'll have to replace it… I'll have to replace a lot, to tell you the truth. Your base dermal plating, most of your armour, one or two joints… and likely all of your interfacing hardware." Ratchet answered softly, his tone rueful and apologetic.

Bumblebee shut off his optics and shuddered, unable to suppress the memory of Oilslick dissecting him as Ratchet applied sealant to the slices in his sheathing. He made a massive effort to distract himself, gasping slightly through his vents, a question pressing up through his still jumbled feeling CPU.

"W-won't that be expensive?" he said weakly.

"I have bots I can call in favours from, and they'll have everything we'll need. Apart from that, when Autobot command see the record of what you did for us for themselves, I have no doubt they'll make sure you are fully repaired."

"R-record?… what do you mean?" Bumblebee rasped, confused. He swallowed to try and re-lubricate his damaged throat plating. His vocaliser was working okay since Ratchet's initial quick repair, but the wounds to his intakes… Bumblebee doubted Ratchet even knew of them yet. He didn't even want to think of the shame of the medic seeing them and knowing instantly what had caused them.

"There was surveillance in the park… when we all came around and returned to the plant, we reviewed it to find out what had happened. We… none of us knew you could do any of that. I've never seen any bot with as little training as you hold out so long against that many Decepticons." Prowl explained, unable to keep the reverent aw from his voice.

Bumblebee shuddered again. "I didn't think I could, but… I had to try… and it fragged them off… big time." Bumblebee answered, voice wavering and barely above a whisper.

"Bumblebee, I don't think any of us could ever really make it up to you. I have known very few mechs who would sacrifice themselves for their friends… and I've never known one that actually did when a moment came for it. Trust me, whatever you need, we'll get it. We'll get you through this, it's the very least we can do." Ratchet said sincerely, almost desperately.

The words only made Bumblebee more uncomfortable as Ratchet began carefully un-bending the metal of the connection hub on the end of his cord so it didn't hurt once the EMP wore off.

All Bumblebee could think of was that question that had started out as his comfort and turned into something that haunted him in the dark of the cell.

Whatever else happened, I said no… it was once, but it was no, I thought no… I thought it wasn't worth it, some part of me did at least, and even if they don't know, I can't take it back. I'll always know. I'm not the hero they think I am, just a naïve idiot who thought he could play the part.

But was it better, Bumblebee wondered, as he lay staring blankly at the ceiling… was it better to go on thinking he could take on the world? To hold onto that false hope and that happy ignorance?

Or was finding out like this that he was living a delusional existence the better fate?

…Bumblebee still couldn't come to terms with It… he couldn't accept his lot in life, not even after those Decepticons had made it horribly clear.

"Really, we should have known better though. We all thought you'd go and get help when you saw us overwhelmed. But you've shown us before… you've taken hits for us before. It was never fair of me to criticize you Bumblebee. You've always had your spark in the right place, always." Prowl said quietly, squeezing Bumblebee's servo.

The black and gold mech seemed to be trying to make Bumblebee feel better, but he couldn't have known how his words stabbed the smaller mech in the spark while he thought of how he had mentally betrayed them. He couldn't stand being thought of as some kind of hero when he knew so much differently… he had already been left open to his very core, stripped of all dignity in front of them even as they spoke, he couldn't let them live a lie… even though it might be kinder to do so, that was just yet another failing of his own, he was in the pit and he just had to drag them down with him. His self-disgust was at an all time high.

"Don't…please don't thank me, I'm not… I… I didn't even know any of this would happen… and when it did, I thought… if I'd known before I couldn't have, I couldn't, I was so stupid. I didn't do it because I was brave… I did it because I didn't know any better." Bumblebee was very nearly sobbing out the words.

He couldn't look at either of them, he'd turned his faceplate away. He didn't see Prowl's stricken face… but it wasn't that he was shocked by Bumblebee's confession. He was realising the implication of the effect his words had had on the sub-compact.

"I wondered if you knew." Ratchet said quietly as he started gently retracting Bumblebee's spike back into it's housing. There was no accusation in his voice, and if the scout's revelation had shocked him at all, he wasn't showing it… if anything he seemed almost… relieved.

"If you had known before and not done it, then no one would think any the worse of you, because no one else would do it either, given the prospect of this… the fact of the matter is, Bumblebee, you aren't an idiot. You knew perfectly well you were in for pain. A lot of pain, even if you only thought it would be physical. You decided you'd take that instead of letting it happen to us. That… that is still worth a whole lot Bumblebee. You must not feel guilty for something you didn't know and didn't do." The medic continued softly, optics up and fixed on Bumblebee's even thought the scout kept them focussed away from the other two.

"Ratchet is right. You can't measure the worth of something like this. And you can't dwell on the what ifs, because that won't change what happened. Things went the way they did, bad as they were… all we can do is try and help you move on. I cannot begin to imagine how impossible that must feel to you right now, but know that we're here, as long as you need us, we're here, we owe you that much at the very least."

Bumblebee could find no reply. He bit his bottom lip to stop it from trembling, and cycled a long, shaky vent. They were right, he supposed… he had known he was in for a lot of pain. And like Prowl said, there was no going back now. What was done was done, and they seemed willing to pick up the pieces of the broken thing Bumblebee saw himself as, even if the shards cut them.

I don't deserve it though, I mean this… this was me making up for being useless, wasn't it? This was my cosmic retribution for Wasp, and for being an aft, especially to Prowl… They don't owe me anything.

"Alright, Bumblebee… I'm going to take a look at your port now. I'll have to use a speculum, it's probably not going to be comfortable, but it's just so I can see the damage. I won't try to patch anything up until you're OK with it." Ratchet explained, voice comforting but still edging on that weird formal air the scout didn't usually hear.

Bumblebee swallowed. He'd only had an examination where a speculum was used once. That hadn't been all that bad, really, embarrassing yes, but it hadn't hurt.

Now though, the very thought of anything touching… let alone stretching his port sent another hard shiver through him.

But if he didn't get it over with now, his port would just keep hurting, keep reminding him, and he supposed treatment and fighting the memories now was better than drawing it out waiting to be ready, when he knew he probably never would really feel ready to face this.

Bumblebee nodded shakily, and Ratchet once again placed a gentle hand on his pelvic plating.

Bumblebee was still looking away from Prowl, who once again squeezed his servo in a gesture of support.

Ratchet had kept the tool on a warming plate he used for internal instruments, and he checked that the metal was comfortably warmed before he lined it up with the torn and abused entrance to Bumblebee's valve.

He knew from Bumblebee's medical records that he was old enough to have had at least one compulsory examination which would have required an interface check-up, and the scout hadn't seemed confused when he'd mentioned the tool, like some young bots he'd checked over before being assigned to Optimus' crew. He wasn't expecting this to be easy though, not given the associations the yellow mech was bound to have with any touch to his port… especially an intrusion, even if it was only a medical tool.

Ratchet knew there would be some kind of reaction… he just didn't know what or how bad.

The moment he pressed the speculum into Bumblebee, the sub-compact stiffened completely, his ventilations ceasing.

Prowl kept a firm hold on Bumblebee's servo, which he had kept his optics on, sensing the scout's discomfort with meeting his gaze.

When Bumblebee stiffened, Prowl didn't have to look to know Ratchet had inserted the tool. He wasn't as aware as the medic was of the sort of reaction that might be coming. In fact, he realised, he had no idea what he was expecting. He just held the servo that clamped down on his own harder than ever (still not strong enough to hurt him).

Bumblebee began to tremble hard, even though he still seemed to have tensed every cable in his body hard. He had shut off his optics and his faceplate was set as though in stone. But he made no sound, and after a few astroseconds, Ratchet carefully proceeded when Bumblebee didn't ask him to stop.

He had slid the device in almost to the sub-compact's socket, and slowly, carefully, he began expanding the girth of the speculum, opening the valve so he would be able to see inside and visually inspect the damage he would be attempting to fix.

But with every micro-mechanometre that he moved the instrument, Bumblebee's shaking got harder.

Ratchet stopped, expecting his pause to help the scout adjust and calm himself, the way he'd seemed able to before.

But instead, Bumblebee let out a terrified keen, optics onlining stark white.

Quickly, Ratchet made to un-expand the speculum and withdraw it, but apparently the damage was done. Bumblebee's optics told him that the mech had succumbed to trauma again, and seemingly unaware of where he was, he had started sobbing and pleading desperately.

"No, not again, please, don't, get off, no more, no no no, PLEASE…"

Bumblebee had been prepared to push away the memories. The prospect was so daunting he didn't have a clue how he was going to do it… he supposed he could focus on Prowl like before.

But the moment that thing had slipped into him…

It was happening again… it shouldn't be, he knew it shouldn't, he couldn't take it again, he couldn't, his spark throbbed and quailed in agony with the very prospect. The thing in him, he didn't know who, or what, he didn't care, the only things that went in him did so to cause pain.

And then it got bigger… and that was all it took…

Suddenly Bumblebee was under Shockwave's claws again, remembering that huge, torturous spike ripping at his insides. It would split him in two, and that wouldn't even be the end of it, because then it would plug in and…

Bumblebee keened in horror and pleaded, knowing it was useless, but so desperate not to suffer it again.

When Ratchet drew the device out, Bumblebee's processor reeled, and the only thing he could think was that Shockwave was dissatisfied with his valve and wanted to ram that horrific cable down his throat again.

Bumblebee couldn't help it… he couldn't escape, but pit be damned if he would do that again, his intakes clenched and stung at the very thought, his meta and spark railing with utter disgust, he wouldn't do it, he wouldn't…

He lashed out with his good arm, his other still restrained by something…Shockwave…

Bumblebee tried to kick out, but his legs barely heeded his commands, and his panic was filling his vision with nothing but white noise, his audios too. Bumblebee screamed in terror and panic, it was his only defence, he knew Shockwave was there, he would feel his crushing weight any nano-klik…

"Ratchet what's happening? What should I do?"

"Don't hold him down! It's a memory purge, trauma glitch, he doesn't know where he is. We need to do something to break the de-frag cycle, something that wouldn't be part of or be assimilated into the memory." Ratchet half yelled over Bumblebee's panicked, spark wrenching screaming.

Prowl wasn't sure how he knew so quickly what to do… it wasn't even really a conscious thought…

He bent down to the writhing form, letting go of the servo he held but keeping his palm up and open under it (Bumblebee couldn't move that arm at the shoulder anyway), he placed his other hand over Bumblebee's head and pressed his forehead to the scout's.

Without a word, he stroked gentle circles over the cranial plating, keeping that light pressure of the middle of his chevron to the point where the arrow on Bumblebee's helm usually was.

The small mech was not quick to stop thrashing or crying out, but slowly, his keens quieted and his weak thrashing lessened.

The white optics offlined as Bumblebee shuddered and whimpered, left servo slowly closing over Prowl's hand beneath it.

"It's alright Bumblebee, you're safe. It won't happen again, they're gone, you're with us, you're safe." Prowl whispered over the scout's audio, helm still pressed to Bumblebee's forehead.

There was at least a Klik of nothing but the rattle of the sub-compact's hard ventilations and trembling.

Then he choked out a sob.

Prowl relinquished his odd position the moment Bumblebee moved. The yellow and black mech's optics remained off, and he rolled onto his right and curled in on himself, his clicking sobs wracking his whole frame as he gasped through his vents.

He didn't resist when Prowl slid onto the berth and gathered him into his arms, resting his torso on one black knee, helm bowed and touching the top of the scout's head once more.

None of them said anything. Prowl held Bumblebee tightly, letting him cry out his hurt for as long as he needed to. Ratchet did not make any move to instruct Prowl or stop Bumblebee's hard, rapid clicking. He knew this would not be the last time this would happen. And the scout needed it. He was emotionally and physically wrecked. He had been so far gone he'd asked Ratchet to end his life, for Primus' sake. This… this was only the beginning of a long, hard road, and he felt terrible for setting the small mech on it by refusing to let him die.

He doubted Bumblebee's crying did the pain he was feeling any justice at all. He'd been amazed this hadn't happened already.

Bumblebee wasn't entirely sure still, how he had just lost track of reality. It had been all too easy to slip back into the darkness, to forget where he was… it was only as that soothing touch on his head had confused him… Shockwave wouldn't make him feel good, wouldn't touch him softly… there was nothing warm about Shockwave, so what was that?

It had still been hard, to drag himself out of the nightmare, to realise no one was holding him down, no one was penetrating him, or assailing his spark. There was just that warm pressure and soothing touch on his head, and instinctively he'd curled his fingers around the warm contact point under his left servo.

When he grasped Prowl's servo, the darkness slipped away faster, and reality began to seep back.

And then he heard Prowl's voice, quiet and calm and reassuring and so like a beacon in utter blackness…

Safe… Prowl said he was safe, it was OK, they were gone, he was safe…

The recent memories in his cache had slammed into him then, the conversation and examination and… it had only been Ratchet and it had only been a speculum… and he had… he'd just… fallen apart without any control…

And the thought of that coupled with the fresh memory purges of Shockwave just broke him up again.

It was too much. Just too much. He wanted out, and he knew he couldn't have out, so he did the next best thing he felt he could, and cried his spark out.

He wasn't sure how he ended up curled in Prowl's arms again, but if Prowl wanted to hold him, he didn't have the will to protest, even if he had no idea how the black and gold mech could still stand him, let alone want to hold him while he went to pieces uncontrollably.

Ratchet looked at Bumblebee's statistics on the monitor again. The scout's flailing had not upset any of the lines this time, and while his tank and energy levels were finally above the red-zone indicators, his spark-pulse was fluctuating wildly. Ratchet couldn't get basic processor activity readings from the chassis hub, he'd need a link up to the access in the base of the back of his neck column. If he was going to find a way to fix Bumblebee without triggering more violent memory purges, he'd have to either assess and bypass the trauma glitch or completely numb the sensors in his pelvic unit.

Both were dangerous options. Coding bypasses required very specific programming protocols and took quite a while… numbing the pelvic unit with an EMP was the quickest way and normally not dangerous, except Bumblebee had such extensive wire and circuit damage that the pulse could arc through a broken connection and do serious damage to sensors and relays, which would just mean more replacements were needed.

Ratchet felt much more confident that he could make sure all the wires and connections were repaired to a suitable enough level to use the EMP. He didn't want to mess with the poor scout's processor, that needed time and patience and help to re-code itself where possible. Bumblebee's inability to completely shut-down into stasis was a problem he would have to manually address, but right now his priority was to fix what hurt and repair the broken fluid lines he knew were in the interfacing unit (it was leaking small traces of lubricant and energon still), so that he could flush Bumblebee's lines and replace the contaminated oil. He couldn't do this until all the sub-compacts lines were sealed.

"Bumblebee?"

The small mech had stopped clicking when his spark had felt empty and numb, and in his emotional exhaustion he'd slipped into what felt like some wonderful kind of half-stasis where he didn't really think, just felt, and he was aware of soothing, slow strokes on his head and the thrum of a warm spark nearby. Ratchet's voice only dully stirred him from his muted state of awareness. He onlined his optics and looked at the red streaked silver faceplate as it hovered above him with evident sympathy.

"I'm not going to try and examine you again, but I need to do some extensive work on the wiring in your pelvic gimble. It won't concern your interface circuitry. I'll be making it so I can give you a proper EMP pulse so you won't feel anything when I do work on your port. I don't want to pressure you to let me do this now, you tell me if you think you're ready, but the sooner the better, because I still haven't flushed your lines to get rid of any contaminants that could cause problems, and I can't until I've fixed the leaks in your valve." Ratchet explained very calmly and kindly.

Bumblebee thought he seemed almost scared to ask. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if he was going to yell at him or get angry, he knew Ratchet needed to do his job, and he knew the longer he stopped him doing it the worse it would be for him.

Bumblebee merely nodded. He just… the memory purge seemed to have sapped him… drained him somehow, and he knew it wouldn't last, but there was nothing he could do to feel like he was on solid ground anymore. Every time he got a foothold his world turned upside-down again, all because of a small touch, or a word, or a memory.

And Primus he was just so tired.

Prowl helped him to lay back down on the berth, but still kept himself perched on it's edge, still stroking Bumblebee's head in that hypnotically soothing way, and Bumblebee almost felt guilty for not wanting it to stop. But he hadn't asked Prowl, and the ninja-bot still seemed unwilling to stop trying to comfort him as best as he could. Bumblebee wished he could say how much his tiny gestures meant. He couldn't even look Prowl in the optics, he wasn't even sure why… he didn't know what he'd see in them, but he had the feeling it would just make him lose what little control he had again.

Bumblebee lay with his optics offline while Ratchet got to work. The lower half of his body was still nothing more than a fuzzy haze of vague sensations and slight aches to his processor, but on his upper half the reticulated dermal plating, hole in his shoulder and the wounds to his intake tubing and mouth still stung like pit. He did his best to ignore it… it wasn't as if he hadn't been living with worse while in captivity.

All the same, he didn't have much to distract him, so he tried to find something.

Bumblebee thought back to what was going on before he'd been captured. Apart from the usual rosters and his extra self-training, the only thing he could think of was how he'd been waiting for Sari to get back from her holiday.

Primus it seemed like forever ago… Sari was something, someone, from what felt like another life. But he cared anyway. Was she back? Was she feeling better in her upgraded body? Did she… did she know what had happened to her best friend?

Bumblebee shuddered slightly. He didn't want her to know, didn't want to see the look on her face, she mustn't find out what the Decepticons had done to him.

Yet at the same time he yearned to see her, to know she was alright, to just… be with her. Just be around her. It would feel good, it would feel normal, if he could just hang out and do the things he enjoyed doing with her. Maybe he'd be able to forget. Maybe… just maybe there was some hope… maybe things could be normal again. Living with this… maybe he could do it…

Who am I kidding? It's going to be forever before my body is even fixed properly. Of course she'll know something happened… the others won't keep it from her, they can't, I know them. It'll never be like it was, none of them can look at me the same way, even if they don't know what Prowl and Ratchet do. And I can't lie to her… I can't tell her I'm OK when I'm not.

"Is Sari back yet?" Bumblebee asked, himself surprised at how weak and tired his voice sounded.

Prowl seemed almost startled by the question, but then Bumblebee realised he did have his optics off, so it wasn't like Prowl could even tell if he was properly online.

"Yes… she… she came in, very briefly… when you were still infected with the virus… you didn't hear her?" Prowl said quietly, sounding a little wary.

Bumblebee onlined his optics, though they were dim, and finally met Prowl's gaze with a startled, anxious look.

"N-no… what… what did she…"

Primus I never wanted HER to have to see me like this

"She heard you… she came to investigate, she was calling you but… I don't suppose you could have heard her, by then the virus was attacking your spark. Optimus came and took her away to explain."

Prowl said uneasily.

Bumblebee had the feeling Prowl was as apprehensive about everything he said to him as Ratchet was.

"I'm afraid it'll be a while before you can see her Bumblebee, I want to fix as much of your armour as possible before I let anyone in. It's not good to leave your protoform completely unprotected."

Ratchet said as he continued working in Bumblebee's exposed hip-joint.

"I… is she OK?… She shouldn't have seen that… wait, she wasn't… please tell me she didn't hear me ask…" Bumblebee's vocaliser chocked with static and panic was evident in his optics as he looked desperately to Prowl, who seemed to understand his unspoken question and shook his head.

Bumblebee vented with a shudder, looking away again, feeling ashamed.

"Bumblebee… don't feel bad about asking me. I was a field medic… you aren't the first." Ratchet said very quietly, resting a servo gently on the scout's arm.

Bumblebee couldn't help his optics flickering to meet Ratchet's.

The deep intensity of the older mech's gaze told Bumblebee more than he'd ever seen in them before. He knew Ratchet had been through the war, and he knew he didn't like to talk about the things he'd done and seen in his youth, and he hadn't much pried. But right then and there Ratchet was not hiding what the war had done to him. Every emotion had been brought to the surface while he worked on Bumblebee, and in that silent stare an unspoken understanding seemed to form. Bumblebee had thought the medic would hate him for asking… but it was clear from that wordless exchange that if anything… Ratchet was apologising for not being able to do it for him

Ratchet looked away, continuing his work. "You're right. I would have preferred she not see that. It was… distressing, but she'll be alright. We can't hide this from her anyway. Not something this major. She has to understand what Decepticons are capable of." the medic mumbled uneasily.

"So she doesn't do what I did." Bumblebee added sourly, voice cracking.

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"No, but I do… I didn't know Ratchet. She can't make the same mistake." Bumblebee said shortly, his voice not desperate, but bitter.

"I'll make sure she understands Bumblebee." Prowl said softly, trying to placate him. Bumblebee glanced at him and looked away again, off lining his optics once more as Ratchet dug deep into his stabilising servo joint to repair the main signal wiring. It only hurt the tiniest bit, for the most part it was just an uncomfortable pressure in an odd place, but he would take it over the alternative.

Prowl sensed his discomfort and squeezed his servo again, never letting up the soothing strokes on his head.

The three of them were silent again for a klik or so, until Bumblebee found another question to occupy his meta and keep him from his memories.

"How did you guys get me out?" He asked, vocaliser crackling again. He could feel a small amount of oral lubricant leaking from a line in his throat and into the synthesiser, but he ignored it.

"Sentinel and his crew tracked the Decepticons to earth. They had some extra mechs with them from a team the 'Cons had already attacked. Between them and us, we were able to ambush the Decepticon's ship and get you out before they left earth." Prowl explained.

Bumblebee was quiet for a few moments as he processed the information… and realised that perhaps the ninja-bot hadn't really understood him… that or he was dodging his question.

"How did you find me?… why did it take you so long?" Bumblebee's voice was barely above a whisper, and it wavered out of his control.

He forced himself to look up at Prowl.

The black and gold bot could only hold his optics with a look of pain and shame for an astrosecond before turning them away to the floor.

"We couldn't track the Decepticon's ship. It was buried in water or hidden in the mines, the only time we picked it up was… that signal I received for your comm. Link, when they moved their ship. We only found you… because Lockdown gave us the Decepticons location earlier today."

Prowl looked back up at the sound of Bumblebee cycling air sharply out of his vents, which rattled irksomely.

A cold look had gone into the scout's dim optics. "So… he sold us out… sold me out… and sold the 'Cons out… I bet he feels really good about himself, him and his slagging half-bit morals."

Bumblebee bit out, vocaliser cracking nastily in his sudden flare of anger. He was shaking slightly, and Ratchet had to stop his work so as not to make any mistakes. He looked at Bumblebee with worried understanding.

"You saw him, on their ship? He took your mods, didn't he? Wait… Bumblebee, he didn't-"

"No. He said he doesn't stoop to that… it was nothing personal… just business." The sub-compact spat, more contempt in his breaking vocals than either of the other mechs had heard form him before.

"He's as much to blame for this as the Decepticons… but if he hadn't decided to tell us where you were-" Prowl muttered uneasily, but Bumblebee cut him off.

"I'm not going to feel ~*schhhkt*~ grateful to him ~*fffffszcht*~ for anything. Fragging coward, acting like ~*hhchkt*~ it's OK for him to go around selling everyone out for himself." Bumblebee all but growled, feeling the congealing lubricant clog up his vocaliser, which only made it more sore and him more frustrated.

He couldn't stop his shaking and it only got worse as he remembered that brief visit from the Bounty Hunter, all the words and things that had seemed almost comforting at the time, in that situation, turning to tank churning cold hatred when he'd learnt the truth.

"Calm down Bumblebee, it doesn't matter now, we've got you back, and we're going to fix it, no-matter how long it takes." Ratchet tried to soothe him. But Bumblebee was not in a state where he could hope to control any of his emotions regarding what he'd been through, and suddenly this old wound had opened and he couldn't help reacting to it bleeding afresh.

"He acted ~*hkkt*~ all kind and sympathetic, when it ~*fzkkkkkkt*~ was all his fault, that pit-spawned fragger!" Bumblebee's weak, vindictive tirade ceased when his vocaliser gave a nasty grinding sound and he let out a stifled whimper of pain.

"Easy there Bee, easy… you can't let it get to you, that's the way he is, he's a low-life who thinks he's got it all sussed out. He'll get what's coming to him in the end, you mark my words. Hush, let me take another look at your vocal processor, I should fix it properly now there's time."

Bumblebee tried to answer, but his vocaliser merely buzzed and sharp pain stabbed through it. It felt as if he'd slipped a cog somewhere in the unit… he was sure he had, because it felt like a wound had opened up and was leaking fresh something… ah, oil. Bumblebee couldn't fight the reflex mechanism and coughed it weakly out of his intake.

When the oil splattered Bumblebee's chin and chest plate, Ratchet's brow furrowed in renewed concern. He eased the scout's head back, Prowl rubbing gentle circles on Bumblebee's head plating while he coaxed him to keep his head still, and the sub-compact offlined his optics, cycling long and slow to try and calm down.

Ratchet opened the throat plating to access the vocaliser unit, and his frown deepened, but he didn't say anything.

It didn't take him long to find the errant cog. He cleaned away the fluids leaking into the area and repaired the unit, closing the neck panel.

He didn't seem finished with Bumblebee's throat tubing however. Cleaning his servos briefly on a sterilizing-solvent stained cloth, he urged Bumblebee to open his mouth.

Shuttering his optics hard and suppressing memories, Bumblebee complied, his shaking returning.

Ratchet gave a soft gasp as he shone a small, narrow beamed torch down Bumblebee's intake.

"Oh Bumblebee, I'm sorry, I am so sorry…"

Bumblebee couldn't do or say anything in reply. What was there to say? Ratchet didn't need to apologise for what they'd done. The scout was having a hard enough time just keeping the memories at bay.

He had felt Prowl stiffen and his servo was shaking slightly where it still rubbed his plating lightly. Obviously he'd realised what Ratchet had discovered… had worked out what else Bumblebee had suffered without telling them.

"Tilt your head back a little bit Bumblebee… I'm going to apply some sealant to the damaged areas, it'll feel weird but it will stop it hurting and leaking and it shouldn't trigger any memory glitches." Ratchet said softly.

Bumblebee complied without a sound, opening his optics to watch what he could, just to try and help himself from falling into any trauma recalls.

Ratchet took a long, thin metal tool with an angled, spatula like tip, and coated the end with the gel.

He very carefully lowered it down Bumblebee's intake, and soon the sub-compact felt the cool silicone mixture being gently applied to areas that hurt. The wounds numbed as the sealant gel was applied and it also plugged the small, leaking oral-lubricant and oil lines.

"Has that stopped the stinging? Can you still feel any leaks?" Ratchet asked him as he finished and let Bumblebee close his mouth. Bumblebee gently flexed his intake, but apart from feeling rather tender, it was much better and there was no warm, slick feeling, so it seemed the medic had managed to patch all the broken lines. Bumblebee shook his head and Ratchet gave a nod, returning to his work on the open pelvic unit.

"Who are the other mechs, that came with Sentinel?" Bumblebee asked softly, still needing to distract himself.

The scout felt Prowl relax slightly as the topic turned to less stressful things.

"Their designations are Brawn and Ironhide."

"Ironhide? As in-"

"Yes, the same one who was in boot-camp with you and Bulkhead."

"Humm. Bet he thought it was pretty typical huh." Bumblebee said flatly, staring unfocused at the ceiling again.

"At first… until he saw the footage from the park, since then he's been notably much more respectful towards Bulkhead and… though he doesn't outwardly show it much I think he's somewhat in awe of you." Prowl explained calmly.

Bumblebee's faceplate remained tired and blank as his optics swivelled in to focus on Prowl's face.

"That's not funny."

"I'm not joking." Prowl said, even more quietly, looking almost put out at by Bumblebee's reaction.

The scout couldn't seem to find a reply, and bit his bottom lip slightly as his gaze flickered down and he flinched from something the medic did deep in his wiring.

"I don't think he can quite get over how much you've progressed since he last saw you. I don't know exactly what you were like in Boot-camp, but I have to say judging from when I first met you… I can understand his reaction. You have come a very long way, in a relatively short span of time." Prowl said sincerely, bringing Bumblebee's attention back onto him.

Bumblebee gave him a startled look, which then turned into an awkward and deep doubt. Prowl frowned slightly, and when the small mech went to turn his faceplate away a black and gold servo came up and gently urged the scout to look at him again. Bumblebee couldn't hide the bitter disbelief in his optics, not from Prowl, and he felt ashamed. He wasn't even entirely sure why, but then he remembered the reasons he knew he was useless…

I don't want to think about that, I don't want to believe anything the Decepticons said but… I can't stop going back to it… I can't tell myself it isn't true, I can't see any better logical answer that contradicts it…

"You can't keep thinking this way Bumblebee. What if they had decided to take any one of us instead hmm? Do you think we could have escaped? Fought them any better than you? Do you think we are useless? Because we do… We couldn't fight off one or two at a time in teams, you kept five at bay for at least two kliks, on your own. And then we couldn't even save you in time… You may not be the best fighter, you may not be the strongest or the smartest but you are certainly not useless, do you understand? I'm not going to stop hammering that truth into your processor until you see it like the rest of us can… like even Sentinel can." Prowl said quietly, voice barely above a whisper but so full of emotion… Bumblebee had never really seen Prowl like this, so anxious and worried and so very focussed on him.

He didn't feel like he deserved it, and offlined his optics with a shuddering cycle through his vents.

"I… I'm sorry… it's just… it's not easy to get that stuff in perspective… not when I can't even keep my CPU straight for a breem… Primus I just feel so…weak. And tired. And I can't just shut everything out for a few cycles, I can't shut anything out…" Bumblebee clamped his denta down hard, cutting himself off as his vocaliser, laced with static, wavered out of his control.

Prowl felt a stab in his spark at the smaller mech's words and he placed his servos on either side of Bumblebee's head and stroked his thumbs gently over the scout's temples to try and soothe the shaking that was threatening to take over the sub-compact's frame again as he fought to keep himself together again.

Watching Bumblebee break down again and again was not something Prowl had been prepared for. He felt helpless, knowing he couldn't do anything to take Bumblebee's pain away, not really.

He could try and soothe him, try and help him move on, but he couldn't fix this… Ratchet was doing his best to physically make Bumblebee right again, but neither of them could truly help Bumblebee, and the cold truth of it pulsed painfully in Prowl's spark.

He realised the feeling was grief, and regret, because really he had lost something that he'd never appreciated, and he was afraid, right now, that he could never get it back. But he couldn't afford to despair, he had no right to that, not when Bumblebee was hurting so deeply, not when he needed someone whole to help him.

"I've finished repairing the necessary relays. As soon as I've taken your lower sensors totally offline and repaired your leaks, I'll start flushing your lines, and while that's going on the first thing I've gotta do is work around that stasis glitch. I can write a program to give you recharge without memory de-frag." Ratchet said as he straightened, not closing the completely open front of Bumblebee's pelvic gimble as he activated his EMP mod once more, fiddling with the settings.

Bumblebee made a vague noise of ascent as his optics remained offline and his shivering quietened once more.

Bumblebee definitely found the complete loss of feeling in his lower half uncomfortable… it was as if half his body had just disappeared, and a silly little warning had popped up in his HUD telling him he'd lost his legs or something, which made no sense since his CPU was still reporting normal fuel flow right through his lower regions ( but for the leak of course, which Ratchet was about to fix ).

In some fit of morbid curiosity, Bumblebee onlined his optics and moved his head to look down at what Ratchet was doing.

Prowl moved his hands out of the scout's way, returning to behind his cranial unit to stimulate the calming sensors there.

Bumblebee was quite shocked to find Ratchet had already inserted the speculum again. He couldn't feel it, at all, and he… kind of felt OK with that, because not feeling the damaged area made him feel less…tainted.

He continued to watch, becoming a little uncomfortable at the look that slowly passed over Ratchet's face as he shone his narrow-beamed torch into Bumblebee's port. He noticed Ratchet start shaking slightly.

Both he and Prowl were completely un-prepared for the red and white mech turning quickly and stumbling over to a small make-shift basin against the wall where he dry-heaved, fighting to disengage his tank purging protocols.

After half a klik, the medic seemed to collect himself, returning to the side of the berth with drawn faceplates. His optics flickered up to Bumblebee's, and the scout could see the shame in Ratchet's gaze.

He doesn't have the memories, but I bet he has a good idea and a horribly vivid imagination…

"Yea… I did that more than once." The scout found himself saying softly, voice crackling with warring emotions.

"I don't want to remind you, I'm sorry, I just… I'll make it stop hurting, I promise." Ratchet seemed suddenly younger… Bumblebee would have thought under stress a mech would seem older but Ratchet was acting like… like some inexperienced medic trying not to make novice mistakes.

"It's not your fault." Bumblebee muttered weakly.

Ratchet gave him an emotion filled glance before he got back to work and Bumblebee looked away.

He couldn't feel anything anyway, and the sight of his frontal pelvic internals bared open was making him distinctly uncomfortable in his own tank, so he swallowed and looked around the room to distract himself, tuning into the calming pulses of sensation Prowl was sending through the back of his head.

He couldn't really think of anything else to talk about to distract himself and ended up tuning his audio receptors into the most distant noises he could.

There were soft murmurs now and then coming from elsewhere in the base… the sound of traffic outside was at a minimum, there were no bird calls either, and he realised it must be night by now. There were no windows in the med-bay because it had been purposely located in the deepest part of the abandoned plant.

It was quite a way from Prowl's room, but Bumblebee was just able to make out the soft whispering sound of the large, errant tree's leaves.

Bumblebee didn't pay his HUD much notice when it stopped telling him about his various leaks as Ratchet fixed them.

Time both seemed to stretch out and contract. It felt like it was taking Ratchet forever to finish patching up his horribly abused port (and he nearly ran to the basin again when he came upon the deep scratches across Bumblebee's burn-marked socket ), yet Bumblebee couldn't really tell where the time went, as he wanted to wipe every second of sensory data from his memory banks, wishing he just wasn't there.

He wasn't sure how he was managing to block all the memories still clamouring to overwhelm him, but he suspected it had something to do with Prowl's comforting presence and gestures. After all, he had been the one to finally ( had he still been too late though?) deliver Bumblebee from that nightmarish brig cell.

Prowl was probably the mech with the closest idea of what his yellow and black companion had really gone through… Ratchet's experience with his injuries was one thing, but all he knew was what the injuries told him… he hadn't seen with his own optics the place where it had happened.

He hadn't seen the fresh evidence, hadn't smelt the foul stench of burning ionic discharge and energon and lubricant and oil and pure fear that had permeated that room and Bumblebee's senses. A smell the scout knew Prowl wouldn't forget in a hurry.

The thought of this made Bumblebee's spark pulse with too much emotion, so he stopped thinking about it before it broke his tentative control over himself.

He tuned into Prowl physically instead. The feel of his digits lightly stroking across his helm, his thumb's gentle circles across the back of his left servo, his steady and slow ventilations thrumming away to cool his automatically quieted systems.

If Bumblebee couldn't see Prowl's visor was on in his peripheral vision, he would have thought the ninja-bot was meditating. Quietness, stillness, calmness, even in this situation seemed to be his natural fallback. Perhaps it was habit for him now, maybe he didn't even think about it, and it just came naturally.

Either way, this solid and undeniable Prowlness was a soothing presence… something normal and concrete and reassuring amidst the chaos of everything Bumblebee was feeling and thinking and dreading dealing with.

He let himself drift into a powered down state, much as he had managed in his cell after torture sessions when he knew he would be left alone for at least a while. His sensory sub-routines did not shut down, his audio receptors being on highest alert… but much else in his meta slowed along with his systems.

When Ratchet had finally done all he could to patch up Bumblebee's appallingly ravaged valve, he was surprised to find the scout had slipped into a state of half-stasis.

He closed up the dermal plating panels over the pelvic unit and went about setting up the fluid transfer machinery necessary to flush Bumblebee's lines and replace his tainted oil and energon flow with fresh supplies.

When the machinery was ready, Ratchet leaned warily over Bumblebee. He was reluctant to disturb the scout… a few scans told him he wasn't in a proper recharge by any means, but he was afraid that going ahead and setting up the fluid exchange without warning the small mech would see him startling badly out of his state of half-stasis.

This stand-by mode must have been the only thing that sustained Bumblebee's systems during his incarceration. Ratchet hated to do it, but he would have to deny the scout his rest for now in order to prevent giving him another trauma glitch.

The medic motioned Prowl to rouse the sub-compact, and after throwing him a regretful look, the black and gold mech complied, squeezing Bumblebee's servo and calling his name softly.

The black and yellow bot's optics onlined slowly and dimly and he winced slightly before his optics focused on their faces.

"Sorry Bumblebee, I know you need rest, but I didn't want to risk startling you while I hooked you up to the machine here… it is going to feel weird, but I'm going to make sure you can get some decent recharge as soon as possible." Ratchet said as he unhooked the energon feed to Bumblebee's intake-bypass before closing it.

"Bear with me… this bit is probably going to hurt." The medic said ruefully as he prepared to open the access port below the panels covering Bumblebee's spark chamber.

Bumblebee grit his denta and his optics seemed to turn cold as he nodded his ascent to Ratchet.

The red and white tried his best to be gentle and careful, but the metal over the medical access point was warped and cracked and the sensors mangled badly.

Bumblebee quailed as fresh pain assaulted him at Ratchet's touch. He fought his vocaliser to remain silent as the medic did his best to carefully pry open the cover of his fluid line terminals, but it was impossible not to scrape the deformed edges of metal against one another.

As Ratchet finally popped it open Bumblebee couldn't suppress a keen of agony as the sensors went off, damaged and over-receptive, and he shivered against the pain onslaught. He whimpered slightly, somewhat deaf to Ratchet's apologies and Prowl's continued efforts to soothe him.

He was concentrating too hard on keeping his optics online… he knew, he knew the moment he let reflex take over and allowed his shutters to close, he would be back there… he would see Cyclonus, would feel that heel thruster, the heat, the excruciating torture of fire, burning, agony from which he couldn't escape…

He drew in long, desperate ventilations, but his fight was made easier as Ratchet began securing the lines leading to the machine onto his midriff. When the red and white mech started the machine and it's fluid transfer, he went limp and gave a short groan of relief as the strange sensation that took over his internals over-rode the memory glitch trying to assert itself.

Bumblebee wouldn't say the sensation of the fluid exchange was pleasant… it was irksome when cooler oil was pushed through his lines and his pumps automatically shut off in response to the equipment link to his chassis. The other line was feeding the medical-grade energon straight into his tank so that the already processed amount that had been trickling in was faster to enter his depleted, stressed and starved systems.

The scout shifted slightly in discomfort, but winced and ceased with a sharp huff from his vents. There was definitely no way he could get any rest with the sensation of the fluids being forced through his systems.

Ratchet apologised again before moving to attach a different cable into an access at the base of his neck. Prowl told Bumblebee to relax as the scout made to try and lift himself to give Ratchet room to connect the line, and instead the ninja-bot lifted his torso with gentle ease.

Bumblebee had been hooked up to processor monitors before, so the clinical feeling code that over-rode his firewalls wasn't really a shock. It made him wince none-the-less.

Any invasion to his body, whether physical or by programming, was a horrible reminder of the violations he'd suffered helplessly. And still he was pretty much helpless to stop the medical ministrations.

He wanted to be better, he did but… he hated that he had to suffer more to get there. He just didn't know how long he'd hold up against the memories and the treatments and the on-going stress and anxiety of whether he could face his problems.

He'd been through what felt like a long, hard process of torture that should have ended in termination, and he was exhausted but unable to rest, and it was the prospect of having to continue enduring this exhaustion and weakness and constant ache that nearly broke his tentative hold on himself again.

He vented hard and ground his denta a little, once again falling back on that solid rock that was Prowl.

Bumblebee wasn't even sure, now he thought of it, what kind of state he'd be in right now without the black and gold mech.

He looked over at Prowl, as if seeing him for the first time since waking from shock-stasis.

Prowl's gaze flickered from the screen at which Ratchet was working to the scout's pale gaze.

Bumblebee didn't say anything as he took in the dishevelled state of the calm mech still administering him with soothing touches.

Now he really looked, he could see Prowl looked exhausted… perhaps his slowly cycling systems were in fact a sign of Prowl's need for recharge rather than an automatic ninja-bot practice.

Bumblebee wanted to tell him to go and get more rest, but… feeling ashamedly selfish, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He needed Prowl too much. He'd fall to pieces without him, not that Ratchet was bad at what he was doing but… the poor medi-bot could only do so much, and working on the practical aspects took all his focus, he couldn't provide the support the scout needed right now.

Bumblebee thought he'd be OK if Prowl recharged there, but he felt like asking that would be stupid, he just didn't know how he could possibly phrase such a request without sounding ridiculous, so he remained silent.

As it was, Prowl's touches seemed to slow and he wavered slightly on his perch atop the berth. He Didn't say anything or make a move to leave, and Bumblebee found himself gazing up into the dim visor again.

"You should rest." Bumblebee said very quietly.

Prowl seemed almost surprised before a small sad smile half-graced his faceplate. "I'm alright."

"Not really. He wouldn't refuel or recharge if I didn't force him. All he wanted to do was look for you kid." Ratchet admitted to Bumblebee, who's optics widened, flitting between the medic's sideways glance and Prowl's guilty faceplate.

"You shouldn't-"

"Yes I should. After what you did for us, it was the very least I could do." Prowl said softly, a thumb rubbing near his Bumblebee's less damaged sensory horn.

"You got me back now, you should recharge." Bumblebee said weakly, trying to keep the regretful, unwilling tone from his weak voice.

Prowl read the pleading look the scout couldn't keep from his optics. He was telling him to go rest, when clearly he didn't want him to go. Prowl's spark gave a soft throb at what was yet another selfless gesture from a the small mech who had already given too much for them.

Reaching an easy compromise in his CPU, Prowl swung his legs up onto the medical berth and lay down alongside the black and yellow mech. He moved the hand he had been stroking Bumblebee's head with down to join his other servo, curling both his hands around the scout's own as he settled on his side.

"W-what…" Bumblebee stuttered, completely confused. Prowl didn't want to leave?

"If you need me at all, don't hesitate to wake me." Prowl said gently.

All Bumblebee could do was blink his optics slightly and nod.

Prowl offered him another comforting smile before off lining his optics, and within a klik the other mech's slow strokes on his hand ceased as the ninja-bot quickly slipped into stasis.

Bumblebee watched Prowl's blank faceplates a while as he recharged next to him. He had cared enough to not want to stop looking for him? To forego rest and fuel… would Bumblebee have done the same?

Yea… yea I would, but… I wouldn't have been able to save him like he saved me…

Bumblebee listened to the other mech's systems softly working away beside him, reminding him forcefully of the soft sounds of off-cycle in his dorm at Autobot boot camp. He realised faintly that he'd never actually recharged beside another mech this close. Yea, he'd been in another bot's berth once, when he first interfaced, but he hadn't recharged there, and he hadn't stayed with that femme for very long anyway. It was never a relationship, just a chance to experience stuff together, but the memories were good, were pleasant, were untainted.

And then he realised it was Prowl beside him and… shouldn't it feel wrong to be thinking about that? About his first intimate encounters and this mech he'd known as a team-mate and an annoyance before… now as a saviour and a solid presence upon which he could depend?

Shouldn't he… feel more embarrassed?

But then, why… Primus he was lying there stripped to his protoform, helpless and an emotional wreck, and Prowl had been pulling him back from the brink of despair since he rescued him from that ship.

Affection practically welled in his spark despite the rest of the pain he was still in. It didn't feel like desire so much as… as… well, he couldn't even fully understand the strong emotional attachment that was suddenly just there in his processor, for Prowl.

He had loathed the ninja-bot on occasion… had clashed with him frequently, had been unable to fathom the black and gold mech's attitude and quick distain towards him when he merely acted like himself… why didn't it feel weird that all that amounted to nothing given the circumstances they now faced?

Bumblebee cycled a soft sigh through his vents, squeezing his own hand very lightly in the other bot's grip, relishing the warmth of the contact, even through his achy, exhausted haze.

He hoped Ratchet could find a way to let him recharge properly soon. He'd prefer to just join Prowl in the land of blissful off lining, rather than lay there trying to work out where he stood in this unfamiliar new life of his. More importantly, he wished he knew what it meant, and frankly he didn't know if he wanted to work it out, but there was no way he could with his processor so direly in need of a rest.

Chapter Text

"When… when will I be able to see Bumblebee?" Sari asked, voice as meek and unsure as if she were still in her 8 year old body. Her tone and the fear in her blue eyes… optics… he couldn't be sure… tugged at his spark. Optimus cycled a sigh and glanced up at Bulkhead, who was sitting on her other side and gazing at him with a look remarkably similar to Sari's. He wanted so badly to be able to reassure them, to tell them 'soon, Bumblebee will be alright once Ratchet has him a bit more fixed up'… but he couldn't lie to them. He wouldn't. They deserved the truth, hard as it was to accept.

"I don't know. Ratchet will be doing his best, and I'm sure Prowl is too… but it's… bad. Worse than anything I've seen." Optimus replied quietly, his gaze shifting down to the ground as he leant his forearms on his knees.

"If any mech can fix him, Ratchet can… and Bumblebee will be fighting, I know him, he'll come out OK, I'm sure he will." Bulkhead tried to assert positively to the techno-organic that was as much his friend as the scout's. His optimism did seem to calm Sari slightly, But Optimus could see the frightened, uncertain edge in Bulkhead's optics as he glanced at his leader before looking away.

The large green mech was trying to reassure himself as much as the young girl.

The air in the main room was tense and anxious… those inside barely dared to cycle air. They all shied from loud noises, some flinching as a distant cry or scream echoed from the med-bay. None of them could be certain what caused Bumblebee's vocalisations of pain, but none of them would dare interrupt Ratchet or Prowl to ask… even if they were burning with anxiety to know whether the scout would make it or not, the priority was letting Ratchet get on with his work.

Eventually, Prowl had emerged when all had gone quiet, and spared them a moment to confirm that yes, Bumblebee was still online. Optimus had to stop the others from bombarding him with questions because it was obvious Prowl was barely keeping himself out of stasis. The ninja-bot threw him a look of gratitude as he headed off towards his own quarters.

But Ratchet never appeared to say anything. The task ahead of the medic was monumental, that much Optimus had no doubts over. But all the same he was fighting every klik against the urge to go and try to be of some use, to try and help… but he just didn't think it was his place. He'd already accidentally seen Bumblebee's bared and scarred spark… something extremely personal… and doubted the scout would want him seeing anything more while he was too weak and vulnerable to have any control over his own body and who saw it in what state.

No, Bumblebee deserved his privacy. But Optimus couldn't help hating being in the dark as the yells and cries started again a little over a cycle later.

Sentinel and his team had remained on base to rest for a while, and save for the jet-twins or Ironhide and Brawn sharing a few muttered words between each other, they had been fairly silent and uneasy as well.

Eventually, Sentinel got to his pedes, and came over to where Optimus was pacing slightly, deep in thought.

The blue and red mech looked up and halted.

"I'm taking my crew back to our ship to report in with the Elite Guard command. We'll hang around on this planet a while, it's likely your medic is going to need our communication line to request supplies eventually. We can monitor for any more Decepticon activity from there." Sentinel said, his tone all business.

Optimus inclined his head in acceptance.

Sentinel turned to leave and Jazz stood from his place near the twins to catch him before he started to usher the others out. "I think I should stay here to keep their numbers boosted Sir, they're already three mechs down." He said calmly.

The Blue and yellow Prime gave him a calculating look before nodding and heading for the entrance, the other four elite-guard members rising to follow him silently.

Optimus raised his head and called out tiredly to the retreating commander. "Thanks, Sentinel… I owe you one."

Sentinel looked over his bulky shoulder with an unreadable expression, and threw back flatly, "Yea, guess you do." But there was no malice in his tone.

"Thanks for staying Jazz, you're just the kind of help we need right now." Optimus sighed gratefully. The white and black mech gave him the flicker of a smile. "No problem Optimus. Figure I'm more use here than sitting around on a ship. And I was thinking' ya probably wanted to talk to me." Jazz said quietly, his tone sage.

Optimus threw a look in Sari and Bulkhead's direction where they sat together on the couch. Bulkhead had started recounting Bumblebee's incredible battle against the 5 decepticons to the young techno-organic. He doubted the green mech would detail just how the scout lost though.

Optimus nodded to Jazz and they moved off towards the Prime's quarters.

Once there, they sat on a few barrels that counted as furniture in the make-shift base.

"I know you probably wanted to hear what we found when we got Bumblebee out. And I know it's not just 'cause you're his commander, I can tell you're worried to glitching about him. Not to mention your group is pretty tight knit as it is." Jazz said, showing Optimus yet again the kind of intuitive intelligence the ninja-bot possessed.

"It's not so much I want to know as I have to. I can't hope to help him recover without a proper idea as to what he went through, none of us can." the Prime replied softly. "I know Ratchet won't rest until he's sure Bumblebee's not in pain anymore. But even if Ratchet thinks Bee will make it… I need an outside opinion, don't energon-goodie coat this for me Jazz, I could only tell so much from the communications and seeing the damage first hand. You have to tell me everything you can about what you found on-board the decepticon's ship."

Jazz hung his head with a slight nod.

"I hate to tell ya this Optimus, but I didn't see much. Prowl went in and released him while I kept a look out. When he brought Bumblebee out, I nearly thought he was offline. Only thing tellin' me he wasn't were his optics. But I didn't need to see the cell to know they'd turned his insides out into it. I could smell it." The ninja-bot admitted with a slight shudder and a grimace.

"I wouldn't sweet-coat this even if ya didn't wanna hear it… but that bot's never gonna be the same. Not from what I've seen in other victims… he's the worst I've seen online. And there's a very real risk, no matter what he was like before this, that he could try to offline himself."

Optimus vented in sharply, optics snapping to Jazz's visor.

"…What do we do? How… will we ever be able to help him enough? Primus…How do we even begin to make this work? I can't even… I could never imagine Bumblebee would…"

Optimus' words died in his vocaliser as the image of the scarred blue spark burned across his meta and he shuddered.

It worried him to think he actually could imagine Bumblebee wanting to offline himself, with his very core so deeply wounded. A servo unconsciously drifted to rest over his own spark chamber. He hated to think how he would feel if his own spark was damaged in such a way… and that was just his spark. With all the other injuries, and memories, weighing down on the small mech now…

The task of recovering Bumblebee seemed suddenly monumental and more difficult than rebuilding the all-spark itself.

"One cycle at a time Optimus… just have to take it one cycle at a time. Prowl's already started the process. An' honestly, I think he's your best chance. He's never said it, and until now I don't think he would even of realised it, but his bond with Bumblebee is strong."

Optimus gave the black and white mech an odd look and the corner of Jazz's mouth curled up in a half, sad smile.

"Prowl has told me a lotta stuff I don't think he's shared with any of the rest of ya. I know what he was doin' before he joined your team. He didn't explain it to any of ya 'cause it's kinda hard to understand if you haven't been exposed to cyber-ninja training. Long and short of it is, his problems with Bumblebee were never 'cause of Bumblebee himself, really… it's just that Bee reminds him of what he was… of the mech he left behind, an' he's never really known quite how to deal with that. Truth is he's been driftin' for a while, or at least he thinks he has… 'till now I'm not sure he realised that what he thought was eluding him was right in front of his optics. Trust me, Prowl is the best thing for Bumblebee. With him you have a chance."

Optimus looked deep into the visored mech's calm expression and silently digested what the sensate bot was explaining. His brow-ridges furrowed slightly… it was a lot to take in, this sudden insight into their least conventional team-mate, and yet, somewhat relieving to be told that with him there was a chance that Bumblebee could get through this mess.

"What about Prowl? We can't just leave it all up to him, how can we help?" Optimus asked , almost hating how desperate he sounded.

"We gotta remind Bee of what he is. Gotta show him it's worth fighting to keep going, I know he'll see it again eventually, but we have to show him, 'cause there's no way he'll be able to see it from a barely functioning body and a memory cache full o' pit-fire and pain." Jazz said with a steely determination in his voice that impressed a small spark of hope into Optimus. But the Prime processed something in his words and frowned quizzically. "We?… You want to stay and help?"

"Slag yea. Kid's got more guts than some ninja-bots I've known. I ain't leavin 'till I see him smile again at least once." the visored mech declared. Optimus gave him a grateful smile, the small ember of hope in him kindled just a little more.

Despite the uncomfortable feeling of slightly cooler oil and energon being pushed through his lines while his own pump was offline, Bumblebee managed to fall back into his stand-by mode on the berth.

He reasoned while in small bouts of less addled awareness that this ease of rest probably had more to do with utter exhaustion than any true feelings of security.

Although, for some reason Prowl's recharging form on his left seemed to be a comfort. He was still incredibly high-strung, as far as he was concerned. Especially given he wasn't in a cell and half his pain had been muted to nothing on his lower half.

He couldn't seem to keep his cables slack though. It wasn't even really a perceivable stiffness to any outside optics, but Bumblebee could feel it in himself, like he was tightly wound coil kept under pressure.

Of course being essentially naked and immobile on a berth with half your systems down was hardly a situation that would make a bot relax, and just thinking about that made him tense up even more.

And yet, somehow, he found himself slipping in and out of lineal awareness. His standby mode had all non-critical functions shut down but for his sensors. If the room was completely silent, his processor activity would slip to below truly conscious levels and he'd sort of… float in a void of non-thought and non-stasis. Never quite going into deep rest and memory-defrag.

But then the very thought of it terrified him, and he was knocked from his light doze. And then he'd take some strange comfort in knowing he couldn't actually fall into that darkness. Which was sort of what kept waking him up, which was getting annoying. His body was trying, repeatedly, to go into proper recharge, but sensory alarms, so deep in his sub-routines, glitched with un-announced warnings, and he'd become momentarily aware and conscious before slipping into that tantalising grey area again.

And that was all if it was quiet. If Ratchet made any kind of conspicuous noise like a grunt of irritation or a sigh as he attempted to create a means for Bumblebee to get some proper rest, the scout's heightened sensors would alert him and wake him immediately.

This response had been conditioned into him as he'd hung, barely energised, on his cell wall, incoherent for un-measurable lengths of time before the sound of approaching torturers would bring him back to full awareness. All because for some reason, that he could still only assume was some form of acute paranoia in his systems, he couldn't allow them to do anything to him without him being aware of what it was. He just… at least, part of him just couldn't come to terms with having something happen to him that he didn't know about.

Bumblebee sank into his grey area for a whole, wonderful breem before an attempt at full stasis failed and bounced him back to consciousness again.

He wondered blithely if he'd be quite so fragged up emotionally if he'd been unconscious every-time he'd been tortured, in whatever way.

He reasoned after careful consideration that no, he would still feel the effects afterwards, and then he'd go mad trying to figure out how it had happened and his mind could supply him with many wild and horrible scenarios without him being able to definitively know the truth of it.

No, he understood that he couldn't avoid the need to know. Now he would have to ride out the processor glitch as best as he could. At least it was keeping him from memory-defrag.

Thank primus for small miracles he though, and was even himself erred by just how bitter the words sounded in his head.

He cycled softly and dare not shift his heavy feeling body (and it seemed strange to him to feel so heavy when much of his weight in form of armour was removed), lest he set off the un-dampened pain receptors anywhere in the upper part of his body.

Bumblebee continued his strange pattern of resting, while Ratchet observed with unease the odd and irregular signals of his processor through the monitor he'd attached to Bumblebee's neural systems.

In order to write a code to override the glitch, the medic had to find it first and determine what kind of coding changes he was looking at.

It wasn't a firewall stopping the yellow and black mech from slipping into recharge, which was bad, because a firewall would have been much easier to fix. It seemed like the scout's systems were producing a warning of some sort as he cycled down into stasis engagement… pinging his sensors and bouncing his meta back up to awareness (although barely by the slow, lagging processor activity readings). It was like he was a stone skipping across the surface of water.

Whatever was triggering the warning was not flagging itself or giving any solid code signal or protocol command… there were no HUD lights activated by it and indeed, it didn't seem to rest in any of his other warning programmes. No, this code warning, which only emerged for an astrosecond at a time before vanishing again, was not based in any hardware or software components of Bumblebee's laser-core.

Ratchet had experience of codes being generated from only one other place… and this kind of glitch usually appeared more in mechs in the espionage division with serious self-doubt and paranoia issues.

Ratchet was no psychologist, but being a medic for as long as he had, he'd observed enough to recognise some personality traits led to specific malfunction vulnerabilities.

What baffled Ratchet, even as he watched the screen carefully for a hint of a sign that his current theory was right, was how a mech as self-confident as Bumblebee ended up with a trauma-glitch more prone to a mech of a completely opposite personality type.

The red and white didn't spend any further time processing that line of code, because the mystery warning had popped up on his monitor again to deny Bumblebee's processor the luxury of deep recharge.

And it was as Ratchet had suspected. The tiny, impulsive and fleeting command code had originated from a source external to the laser-core and processor. It was being initiated by Bumblebee's own spark.

Subconsciously, and on a level deeper than just his base protocols, Bumblebee was refusing to allow himself not to know what was happening to him. And this apparent, stubborn and irrefutable need to be aware both impressed and horrified Ratchet.

It took a lot for a mech to feel so strongly about something that it messed with their very core programming and changed it, but the thought that it meant Bumblebee had been fully aware of absolutely every klik of his ordeal made Ratchet's own spark throb with raw pity and regret.

Knowing now where the signal was coming from though, Ratchet was able to start working on a solution. And it was a relief to come across something he could productively do to help make the scout's recovery easier.

Bumblebee, oblivious to Ratchet's train of thought or progress, was stirred from his hazy non-awareness once more, but not by the medic or even his own body.

It was in fact the one next to him that caught his attention.

Bumblebee's optics sluggishly brightened enough for him to focus on the ninja-bot's face.

Prowl seemed to be having a memory purge. He shifted very slightly in recharge, mouth forming a slight frown. His vocaliser hummed almost imperceptibly, but he didn't online.

Bumblebee watched him with mild curiosity for about a breem as the twitches became slightly more pronounced.

Bumblebee was just wondering if he shouldn't wake the mech (the memory did not seem pleasant) when Prowl actually whimpered. It was very quiet… he wasn't even sure Ratchet would have heard, but what got Bumblebee was that he'd never heard such a desperate noise come from the ninja-bot.

If the scout wasn't sure Ratchet had heard the sound, he was definitely sure the medic heard when prowl began talking in his recharge.

"No… Bumblebee… don't… don't be offline… I promised…"

Bumblebee felt his spark quiver in response to the words… he was confused and… strangely comforted at the same time. Prowl was thinking about him?

"He was the worst… when they took you, it hit him even harder than Bulkhead." Ratchet's soft, sad voice floated over, and Bumblebee turned his head sluggishly to see the medic had half turned, faintly concerned optics on the black and gold mech on Bumblebee's other side.

"…Why?" was all the scout could think to say.

Ratchet gave him a long, meaningful look. "You should probably ask him that. Right now I'd say he's relieving the memory of finding you on that ship." the red and white mech said solemnly, voice soft.

"Should I… wake him up?" Bumblebee asked tentatively, tone so unsure he almost sounded like he thought he'd get in trouble for asking.

"Just tell him you're here, it'll pass. He hasn't recharged sufficiently, and he'll need to be rested enough to help you." Ratchet explained gently.

Bumblebee turned his optics back on the now slightly shivering mech.

"No… Bee…"

"I'm here Prowl, you got me out... You didn't break your promise." Bumblebee replied to the still offline mech. He emphasised his point by squeezing the servo still wrapped around his. He felt it twitch in response and Prowl's shaking slowly ceased.

Even as Prowl's face settled into the ghost of a troubled look, Bumblebee didn't take his optics off him. He was still having trouble processing the fact that Prowl had cared so much… that he still cared so much, enough to stay, enough to have nightmares about him (which in truth weren't so much nightmares as bad memories), even… more than Bulkhead, according to Ratchet.

The only thing Bumblebee could think of this was, why? Why did he suddenly mean something to the mech that he was sure liked him least out of their small crew.

Maybe he was just grateful? Maybe it was just some kind of ninja-bot code of honour because he'd sacrificed himself…

Whatever the case, Ratchet wasn't forthcoming with answers, if he even had any. He'd just have to ask Prowl when he came back online.

"There we go… I think that's done it. OK, Bumblebee… ready for a good long rest, at last?"

The scout turned his head, pale, exhausted optics overbright as he gazed in hopeful disbelief at the medic. Ratchet offered him a small, gentle smile. "I've written a code that should put you in a state of offline deep enough for you to recharge that will also stop any memory replay or defrag. You're probably going to feel a bit disorientated when you online again, but I figured you'd find that a small price to pay."

Bumblebee nodded as enthusiastically as a sore, over-taxed and under-charged mech could.

"Alright, I'll initiate the code, and you'll be out in an astrosecond. Probably for a few days. I promise, you'll feel better when you're awake again, it'll give your body time to do some self repair, I won't be able to do anything more for you without more materials, so I'll be calling in favours while your out. Probably won't be long after you're online again before they arrive. You can look forward to having a functioning body back soon."

Bumblebee nodded tiredly again and flickered the barest trace of a grateful smile to the red and white bot before Ratchet initiated his newly written program and Bumblebee finally, finally plunged into blissful unawareness.

Ratchet sighed heavily, setting his monitors to alert him to any drastic changes in the sub-compact's systems before he started fishing around in one of his supply cabinets.

Finding the large micro-fibre tarps, the medic took one over to the berth and draped it carefully over Bumblebee's now offline frame. His self-heating was compromised by his lack of armour, but the sheet would keep enough heat in that he would be moderately comfortable while stripped down to his protoform.

Ratchet didn't like leaving him that way, but there was no other option. Most of the small mech's armour was beyond repair, and the injuries that would lie beneath it were in no state to be left untreated before trying to re-connect external systems.

Rubbing at his optics the red and white ambulance left the two mechs recharging in his med-bay to get some energon. It was probably the only chance he'd get in a while.

He locked the door behind him and trudged wearily down the hallway to the common-room.

The absence of most of the elite-guard mechs didn't really surprise him… checking his chronometer he found he'd been shut away working on Bumblebee for about 6 cycles straight.

Long stints were what he was programmed for though, and even as old as he was, he could pull off 20 cycles of work without too much hassle. However, it wasn't preferential if he could help it, so a small refuel and recharge was in order. He'd work more efficiently that way.

Upon entering the common room, he didn't really note Bulkhead or Sari's presence as he made his way to the cooler where they kept their readily synthesised energon. The other two did notice the medic though.

"Ratchet?"

How he hadn't noticed them, the ambulance wasn't sure, but they hadn't called themselves to his attention until he'd procured himself some fuel and turned to leave.

"Hey, what're you kids doing up?" He grumbled good-naturedly, pausing and giving them both a inspecting glance. His face pulled into a frown once he noticed the state of Bulkhead and he went over to the couch where they were both sat.

The closer he got, the more he noticed Sari's glazed eyes… a sign she had been crying, not that he blamed the small organic. Otherwise, she looked healthy, apparently settling alright in her upgraded frame… Bulkhead on the other servo, was still littered with battle damage, which he'd refused to let Ironhide fix in favour of him attending the others.

The green wrecker looked sheepish as Ratchet put down his untouched energon and started un-sub-spacing some of his field kit. "You don't have to Ratchet, it's nothing major, I just wanted to know how… how Bumblebee's doing…"

Ratchet's mouth pulled into a taut line as he carried on beginning the minor repairs to the large frame. He had known the nanoklik they'd called him that they wanted to ask that question, but it didn't make it any easier to answer.

"At the moment I've got him in recharge. He shouldn't wake up from it for at least two joors, likely more given the amount of stasis time he's been unable to get. Most of his armour has been destroyed, and I've been able to stabilise him enough to run fresh oil and energon through his frame. I'm going to have to contact Cybertron to order specific materials to repair him. Until then I'll do all I can to keep him comfortable."

Ratchet couldn't look them in the optics even as he calmly explained the scout's physical condition. A faint touch on his arm stopped his work on a laser burn on Bulkhead's shoulder, and he looked down to meet Sari's keen, piercing gaze.

"How is He Ratchet?… did he… has he talked to you guys? Will… he be alright?"

Ratchet swallowed reflexively and sighed long through his vents. Damn, he always forgot just how perceptive the little techno-organic was.

"He's… in a lot of pain. It's going to take time… a lot of time to get back the Bumblebee we remember. With everything he's been through, it's going to be hard for him to come to terms with the trauma. Right now he's not the Bumblebee you know, but he needs space, and we're all going to have to help him. It'll be a while before you two actually can help, you'll have to be patient. Dealing with this is going to be the hardest thing he's ever done."

"When… how long do you think it'll be before we can see him?" Bulkhead asked tentatively.

The corner of the medics mouth pulled down slightly as he processed a few calculations.

"I can let you In to see him tomorrow, if you want… you won't be able to see anything but his face though, like I said, most of his armour was destroyed, and I had to remove it to work on deeper injuries. He's down to his protoform, I've got him under a thermal-tarp to help his frame regulate his own temperature, and… the only reason I'm giving you the option of seeing him is because I think you should understand just how serious his ordeal was. He'll still be in stasis while you're there, but I understand the need to just see him. It's up to you."

The large mech and small techno-organic exchanged an uncertain look. After a moment though, they both seemed to come to a silent agreement.

"Yea… I think we should see him." Bulkhead said solemnly. Ratchet nodded and finished up the less minor repairs, leaving the smaller injuries for the green mech's self-repair systems.

"Alright, well tell Optimus next time you see him, he'll most likely want to check in too. Now, can either of you tell me how long ago Sentinel's team left?"

"Yea, it was about a cycle and a half ago, maybe two? Jazz stayed behind to help us on base though. He went off to talk with Prime." Bulkhead replied. Ratchet made a noise of approval. "Good… I like that kid, he's got a good processor on his shoulder struts. I might need his help with contacting Cybertron too… he's good with talking through red-tape."

With that, Ratchet took up his energon again and wandered off to find the black and white ninja to assist him in calling through to collect his favours… the process would hopefully be sped up with Jazz's input, and anything that helped get Bumblebee back into a working body faster was good.

"Wheeljack, do you think you could get that?" Perceptor called across the Laboratory, his optics never leaving the large magnifier before him or the nano-circuit he was in the middle of soldering.

The engineer made no complaint as he left the components he was welding to answer the incessant ping of the communications console.

"Ministry of Science, chief engineer Wheeljack speaking." He greeted in his practiced, easy tone.

"'Jack my main mech, good to see you in one piece. Hope you ain't busy right now, I got an old friend who wants to talk to you and Perceptor about some important material needs."

"Ha ha, very funny. For your information I haven't blown myself up in at least 5 orns. Where the frag are ya Jazz, your signal is so hazy you might as well be light-years away!" The white and green mech replied amiably. Jazz was one of his favourite elite guard friends, mostly because he wasn't a jock like most of the higher ranking bots, and because he actually showed interest in the science department's projects and knowledge

"Funny ya should say that 'Jack… I'm on the long range right now hailin' from Earth. Little green and blue rock, third from the sun in the Sol system-"

"Did he just say the Sol system?" came the distant and eager voice of Perceptor.

Wheeljack's helm panels flashed and he rolled his optics good-naturedly. "Here we go, now you've got his attention."

"I've heard some fascinating things about that planet, but I've been unable to get a grant to travel there, not even for research purposes, and from what I hear, your team gets to jump back and forth to the place whenever necessary!" The scientist prattled as he set down his work and made his way hastily to the vid-comm console.

"Well, ya just might be getting' yer chance Perce', but before ya get too excited, we got some serious business to talk over. Now, I believe you two know Ratchet, right?"

The red and white medic sidled into the frame with a tired, wan smile.

"Ratch! How's it goin? Primus, you look terrible, what have those maintenance mechs been putting you through?" Wheeljack joked cheerily. Ratchet spared them a grin that was more like a grimace.

"Hello Wheeljack, Perceptor… it's more a case of what have those maintenance mechs been put through, as of late. You wouldn't be looking your best either if you'd just been patching up a nearly written-off mech for 6 cycles straight." the medic groused with a sombre edge.

"Has Omega Supreme suffered further damage?" Perceptor asked with clear disappointment in his voice.

Ratchet shook his head, looking even more drained. "Omega isn't even with us anymore… I was able to re-activate him, only to have him stolen by Decepticons after he self-sacrificed and destroyed an illegal space-bridge. I don't even know where he is right now, but at the moment my more pressing concern is one of our team-members." the ambulance explained to both slightly stunned and bewildered scientists.

"See the reason ya ain't gotten clearance to travel to Earth Perce' is the risk. Bots back home don't know it, but Earth is the new front-line and all the major players of the Decepticon remnants are here makin' a bad scene. Optimus Prime's crew have been the only thing standing in the way of Megatron gettin' his greasy servos on the All-spark or a way to conquer Cybertron for the past solar-cycle or so."

Wheeljack and Perceptor swapped concerned and startled glances.

The microscope seemed the most troubled by the news of Omega Supreme's disappearance, but Wheeljack was quickly keying into the seriousness of the call.

"You said you've been working 6 orns on one of your bots? What happened to him?"

Ratchet's optics dimmed a little more as the subject turned to the reason he had called.

"Decepticons happened to him. A whole team of them. He was captured and tortured… very nearly offlined. I… can't really describe the damage, there's too much of it, and I don't have all the materials I need to fix it. He's gonna need new armour, a new rotary joint in his shoulder, some ventilation replacements, new protoform dermal plating-"

"Woah, what? Are you serious? Ratchet, I hate to… be the bearer of bad tidings, but… you know Protoform metal is hard to procure, there has to be a good reason… are you sure the council is gonna allow us to try and save this mech? It sounds like he's so far gone they're likely to order him… you know…"

Wheeljack's helm panels flickered nervously, but Jazz shook his head.

"Trust me man, the council is gonna do all they can for him once you show them the data-packet we're sendin' ya. Mech's a hero. Primus, they're probably gonna try and recruit him straight to the elite-guard academy if we can get him fixed." Jazz said, tone solemn but sincere.

The scientists shared another look between them, this time more surprised than anything.

"I'm including data-shots of some of the damage, the bot's frame type and a list of what I'll need. We're also sending you footage of the incident that should get the council on side to grant you leave to Earth. Bring your tools, I'm gonna need your help with the re-build. Oh and… just be prepared with the injury photos… it's… nasty."

"How nasty?" Perceptor asked warily. He was not squeamish, but from what Ratchet was telling them, this mech sounded in worse shape than the twins had been after the energon refinery explosion.

Ratchet's face took on a haunted look. "Some of it actually made me purge… more because I couldn't help thinking how it was done to him, but, still…" the medic looked away, apparently trying still to shunt the thoughts from his processor.

The console pinged, signalling that the data-packet had finished downloading.

"Well… even if the council ends up denying our request, I know a few mechs Ratch, I'll probably be able to ship you out some materials… enough to get him to a state where you can bring him back to Cybertron. We owe ya that much, at least." Wheeljack said reassuringly , Perceptor nodding his agreement at the engineers side.

The ghost of a smile crossed the medic's grateful faceplate.

"Thanks Wheeljack, Perceptor. I think the others will be pleased to hear he'll be getting some help from home."

"Before you go, might I enquire as to the twins condition? Are they well? Is their performance as anticipated?" Perceptor asked, and though his tone was as cool and professional as ever, both mechs on earth could detect the deep edge of concern creeping into his vocaliser.

Jazz grinned. "Their doin' better than fine Perce'. Work like a charm against the 'Cons. They're just… finding this thing with Bumblebee a little hard to come to terms with, they've never seen anything' quite this nasty 'till now. But they gotta learn sooner or later the truth of warfare." Jazz explained a little sadly.

"Alright then, we'll call you as soon as we know one way or the other with the council. Don't hesitate to contact us if you need anything else, Ratchet." Wheeljack said, helm panels flashing softly.

"Thanks, you two. I knew we could count on you." Ratchet said with a tired but genuine smile of relief.

"One more thing, how long do ya think it'll be if you get the green light?" Jazz added.

Perceptor mused with unfocused optics for a moment, calculating how much time it would take them to gather the necessary materials and then actually make it to Earth.

"2 joors, give or take a few cycles depending on the fluctuation of variables. And that's after however long it takes the council to give us an answer."

The Earth bound mechs nodded, and with a final thanks, they closed the channel.

"Well. No point delaying the process any more than necessary. Let's take a look at the damage. I think I heard Jazz mention the bots name was Bumblebee… wonder how a mech is unlucky enough to get a designation like that…" The engineer rambled quietly as he opened the data-packet.

"Perhaps we should view the footage first. It will be what we have to show the council to convince them to allow the trip." Perceptor reasoned, and agreeing, Wheeljack opened up the vid-file attachments.

The scientists winced as one as they watched a four bot team get picked off steadily by a five 'Con troupe. And then, quite unexpectedly… a yellow sub-compact leapt into action and took on all five of the enemy alone.

If Wheeljack and Perceptor weren't convinced enough that the mech… Bumblebee… was worth saving from the first video… they were certainly compelled to aid him after watching the second. It was, without a doubt, one of the most horrific things either of them had seen in their entire careers. They had dealt with post battle injuries and torture victims before. But they had never actually witnessed the acts for themselves. The 'Postcard' as it was dubbed, was quite the disturbing revelation.

"Pull up that list of materials, I wanna start getting them together as soon as possible. What's his frame type again?" Wheeljack said as he rummaged through a box of parts to locate some extra ventilation tubing.

Perceptor did as asked, and scanned the list swiftly with keen optics. One of the items made him stop and take in a sharp ventilation.

"What is it?" the white and green mech asked, returning to the screen with an arm-full of bits and pieces.

Perceptor pointed to the list item with some trepidation. When Wheeljack read it, he frowned slightly in confusion before horrible comprehension dawned across his features.

"Oh no… no, they didn't… oh Primus, that poor bot…"

"Keep working on gathering the items we need, I'm going to go straight to the council immediately and put the case to them. Then I'm going to work on sourcing the necessary materials to make the protoform alloy. And… no offence to your skills with part finding, but I'd like to obtain the new interface unit myself. I know someone who will have perfectly crafted units and I don't want to settle for less with that unit." Perceptor said, tone full of determination.

Wheeljack nodded, helm panels flashing bright blue. "I understand, totally fine with me. Oh hey, take some of the injury shots with you when you make our case to Trion and the others… let's take a look at them first, we don't want to show them any that'll make those council bots glitch or anything, you know what those alphas are like." the engineer muttered.

The two quickly reviewed the data-captures, which were careful to only show the damaged area, representing the injuries in such a text-book manner that the connection between the damage and the bot it was done to wasn't something that hit hard. All the same, the wounds were… brutal… horrific…the sub-compact had to be in an absolute pit-load of pain.

This evidence merely spurred Wheeljack and Perceptor into hastening their efforts to succeed in procuring permission and materials to get to Earth and help the incredibly brave little mech.

"Wheeeeljaaaack! Perceptooor, anyone here? I was wondering if you had any more of that anti-rust, my joints are-"

Rodimus Prime stopped in the middle of the lab, looking around at half finished projects left strewn over benches, but neither the scientist nor the engineer were in sight. He knew better than to touch any of their things (the last time a bot had done that, Red Alert had spent 4 cycles re-affixing their arms).

All the same, he looked around for more of the remedial lubricant that helped relieve the persistent itch in his joints from his bout of cosmic-rust.

With a huff of air through his vents, his search came up empty. Scratching idly at his hip, he leant against the computer console and accidentally roused it from sleep mode.

Looking idly at the screen, thinking he'd just wait there until one of the lab mechs returned, his orbital ridges furrowed together as he spotted something.

One of the windows open on the screen showed paused footage of a low quality recording (low quality by cybertronian standards anyway).

What puzzled him most was not the organic life-forms… but the Decepticons within the frame. They were, without a doubt, the same ones his team had encountered… the ones who had overpowered them and taken the space-bridge, only to not use it and then flee as back-up arrived for the fallen elite-guard team.

Glancing at the door to see if anyone was about or the occupants were returning, Rodimus sat himself down at the computer and decided to watch the footage. He felt a little wrong, poking his olfactory sensor into the science bot's business… but he reasoned that if any mech had a right to it was him, given he'd been attacked by those 'Cons. His curiosity got the better of him. Especially given the cybertronian dating on the footage told him it was not that long after those 'Cons had taken down his team.

The Prime's optics and mouth got wider and wider as he watched.

…How?

…HOW?

His own entire team hadn't held the Decepticons off that long, and yet this one mech, one sub-compact mech had held out longer than he had! Why the frag wasn't this bot an elite guard?

Frowning in concern and confusion as the footage came to an end, he glanced over the other files attached and found a name.

He covered his mouth with a servo, quickly closing the image windows after opening them, wishing he hadn't seen the damage…

Bumblebee?

Tentatively, he opened the second footage file, but ended up stopping it half-way through.

Oh Primus … that could have been my team… that could have been ME…

Swallowing hard to stop his churning tank from initiating a purge, the red and yellow flame painted Prime un-subspaced a data chip and plugged it into the console, downloading only the first video.

I 'm sure… I'm positive Ironhide has said that name before… did he know that mech? I thought he used to rant and rave about some useless bot, some Bumbler from boot-camp… surely it's not the same one… He must have helped him then, seeing as he went after those 'Cons with Sentinel's team. I'll have to ask him about this… in the meantime, I gotta spread the word about this bot, no one would believe me unless they saw it themselves!

"Hey, Longarm Prime sir… just sending some system mail through to you, you're not going to believe this! I think it's one of the cadets that was in boot-camp with you." Cliffjumper's voice came excitedly through the intercom.

Longarm turned blank faceplates to the communications hub before pressing a blunt digit to the channel button. "Thankyou Cliffjumper, I'll review it shortly." he managed to get out in clipped tones.

Indulging his emotions by allowing them to show, he scowled through his autobot faceplate and scanned his inbox, pulling up the mail in question. He watched all of three astro-seconds of the footage attachment before turning it off with a sneer of disgust. He knew what had happened, he did not need to soil his optics with that yellow pest any longer… it was the text beneath the media that caught his attention though.

This footage is real, the mech in question is not a member of the Elite Guard, took on 5 Decepticons, and somehow lived! This is no hoax! If anyone knows this mech, designation: Bumblebee, I 'd appreciate some back-ground on him.

~Rodimus Prime

Longarm snarled, enraged. Alive? How can he be alive? This is ridiculous, I will not have my reputation amoung the Decepticons or my useful position amoung the Autobots compromised because that little yellow insect refuses to be offlined!

Fuming, the head of intelligence sat plotting the best course of action for over a cycle while the email circulated so fast it nearly reached the high council and Magnus before Perceptor could present it himself.

A fact the scientist was none too pleased about.

"Maybe we should start thinking' about actually locking the lab behind us?" Wheeljack later muttered to him sheepishly as they made to find Rodimus Prime to figure out what exactly he'd been doing perusing their computer.

"I am more inclined to increase the clearance level so that ONLY you and I may enter." the microscope replied peevishly.

"Aaaw, but then that would discourage visitors." Wheeljack pouted behind his guard-mask in a disappointed tone.

"It is a lab, not an energon bar. Socialising is not it's primary service function." Perceptor replied, finding it a little difficult to resist his companion's kicked cyber-puppy expression.

"By any means, socialising is not conducive to an expedient organisation of what we need."

"What we-… you mean they gave us the go-ahead?" Wheeljack's mood and helm panels brightened considerably.

A tiny, satisfied smile crept onto Perceptor's faceplate. "Indeed. I hope you have good travel cases for your tools, because they gave us a rather comfortably large ship and an elite guard escort team as well. The only problem for us will be procuring all the necessary materials for the repairs."

"I'm up for it if you are." Wheeljack replied, a fire of excitement and determination in his optics.

Chapter Text

It was 11am in the humans time cycle when Prowl onlined again. He was met with the sight of Bumblebee's de-helmed face, optics black and expression blank… for a moment Prowl felt his spark contract in fear, and the insane notion that he was lying next to Bumblebee's deactivated frame flared across his meta. He sat up quickly, registering the soft beep of the spark monitor betraying the sub-compact's weakly pulsing core. Relief and anguish both flooded through the black and gold mech's frame, and he looked back over Bumblebee's still form. Ratchet had covered him in a micro-mesh medical sheet to help keep his system temperature regulated, and apparently he had managed to get Bumblebee into a peaceful recharge stasis.

Prowl realised he still had both servos clamped over one of the scout's own, and feeling the stiffness in his own joints, he carefully un-twined their digits and slipped off the medical berth.

Out of habit, he first scanned his surroundings, taking in the dim lighting, even though his chronometer told him it was relatively late in the on cycle.

They were alone in the med bay, no sign of Ratchet, and no sounds other than the monitors still attached to the sub-compacts frame.

Prowl stretched his cables, un-kinking them and rotating his joints. He was just having a small internal struggle over whether to leave Bumblebee to get himself some energon or stay and wait for Ratchet's return when the door to the bay slid open and the medic slipped into the room carrying two glowing pink cubes.

Ratchet threw him a tired looking half grin. "Hey. Figured you'd need some when you onlined, and I knew you probably didn't want to leave him alone."

Prowl nodded. He often forgot just how perceptive their resident medic was.

"Thankyou. How long has he been in stasis?" the gold and black mech asked, accepting the cube and following Ratchet to sit on the extra berth in the corner.

"Hmmmm, only about 10 human hours. It's doing him a lot of good though, his systems have already started to normalise again. 'Course it helps that he now has a full tank, but he'll feel better once he's had a full recharge too. His self repairs finally have a chance to get to work on the micro-circuit damage, and there's a lot of things I can't fix until those connections repair themselves."

Prowl nodded in understanding and took a draught from his cube.

"Have you spoken to the others much?" He asked quietly, gaze not leaving Bumblebee's offline form.

"Yeah. I'm letting them in to see him soon. They need it, and it's better to do it now while he's resting than put it off until he's awake. Less stressful this way. For him, at least, but that's the more important thing." Ratchet explained quietly, swilling the contents of his cube a little out of habit.

"What about your contacts on Cybertron? Were you able to speak to them?" Prowl's question hung with an unasked air of and did they agree to help?

Ratchet's optics brightened slightly. "Yes, I did… and they've been granted permission by the high council to come with the necessary materials. It'll be a few earth days until they get here, but those two are reliable."

Relief suffused the ninja bots frame slightly and he took a long draught of energon, looking down at his pedes before glancing back up at the unconscious Bumblebee.

"It's a lot of parts, isn't it… needed to repair him. How long do you think it will be before he's completely fixed?"

"Hmmm." Ratchet seemed to need a klik or two to think about that, his gaze fixed on some point on the monitors. "Honestly, this is the biggest repair on a mech as small as him I've ever had to do… almost all his armour will be new. A good forty percent of his protoform dermal plating will have to be replaced. He'll have a ventilations overhaul since most of his were collapsed in or the fans barely working. Some main conductor circuits in his arm and leg servos need replacing, ALL his integrating circuit panels need repair or replacement. Some new tension cables, new dermal sensors, new interface units and replacements for his mods. Overall, he'll be at least sixty percent a new mech. It'll take two to three weeks with the help of the bots I've called in." He sighed hard through his vents, looking wearier than ever. "And that's just the physical aspect. I couldn't tell you how long it'll take him to come to terms with all this."

"What if… he doesn't, come to terms with it?" Prowl asked softly, visor finally turning to look the medic in the optics.

Ratchet didn't think he'd ever seen Prowl so desperate and helpless. But he'd been seeing the distraught sides of his comrades he'd never hoped to see before a lot lately.

"If we do all we can for him, and he still can't find it in himself to take up his life again… I think the best we can do for him is take him back to Cybertron and find him a new life… find him someone who can really help him. There are… places for mechs who've suffered irrevocable trauma. But they all tend to think along the lines of completely severing all a bots ties to his old life to move on. If it came to that we'd… all have to let him go. Completely."

There was a quiet but distinct fear in the medics voice that made Prowl's optics widen. This was not something he had counted on… he hadn't imagined that failure to recover their companion themselves would result in losing him entirely even without him going offline.

And quite unexpected to him, was the severe jolt of pain the thought sent through his spark.

Sari walked in hesitantly with Bulkhead and her father, throwing another look of uncertainty towards Ratchet, who was over beside the medical berth where… where she knew HE was.

Prowl was in the corner, sitting on the extra berth and looking more exhausted than Sari had ever seen him… and it was an emotional exhaustion rather than a physical one, which made it all the stranger to witness from the usually reserved, stoic ninja-bot.

Reaching the berth, rather than climb up herself she allowed Bulkhead to scoop her up onto the surface without any protests of being perfectly capable on her own…

Finally, here he was… looking a lot calmer and more peaceful than the last time she had seen him. So… why did the sight of him now scare her even more than before?

It could be the fact his whole body except for his head was covered in a micro fibre thermal blanket. Or how small his form seemed with the lack of bulky armour. Or that she'd never seen him without his helm on.

Sari was frozen, kneeling on the berth, looking over the battered faceplate. She knew it was Bumblebee, but what scared her the most was not making the connection between the Bumblebee she knew and this… this battered, beaten, irrevocably broken looking thing before her… surely it was another mech? Surely THIS wasn't her happy, scrappy, fiery Bumblebee?

How could… how could ANYONE turn the Bumblebee she knew into THIS?

A trickle of fear coursed through her techno organic frame, making her hair stand on end. What if the Bumblebee she knew was gone forever? How could he still be in THERE?

Bulkhead barely noticed Sari's apparent inner struggle with her feelings over the reality of the situation. For him there was no surprise. There was no doubt his closest cybertronian friend was lying before him an absolute wreck. This scene had haunted his nightmares ever since they had begun fighting the Decepticons on earth.

Usually the nightmare involved all of his team mates, but in particular Bumblebee would be the one he feared for most because he knew, he had always known deep down that the sub-compact was the most vulnerable of them all, despite his energy and fighting vigour. Bulkhead had turned a blind optic to Bumblebee's lack of offensive capabilities, just like the rest of the team, believing he was probably safer to himself and others without wielding weapons that could inflict serious damage.

But now… now his spark positively seethed with guilt as he stared down at the covered, stripped protoform, knowing full well what was under that blanket and trying to push the memories of the vid files away so as not to purge his tanks. He had no right to do that. Not after Bumblebee had suffered so much for them and managed to survive.

Beneath the pain and self shame, the large green wrecker still felt a sense of awe towards his small friend. The fact he'd been brave enough to defend them against five Decepticons, brave enough to let them capture him, had enough spark to survive such horrific torture… Bulkhead knew he wouldn't have lasted. He wouldn't. His spark constitution was strong, but it lacked the vibrancy of Bumblebee's.

"Don't worry little buddy… they'll fix you up… Ratchet will bring you back." He said it as softly as he could without whispering, as much for his own and Sari's sakes as the stasis locked frame on the berth. Bulkhead reached out slowly and lay one of his massive servos ever so gently over the sub-compacts chest plate where his spark was. It was an old good health custom used frequently among small-town mechs, back on the energon farms where he'd onlined and lived for the initial vorns of his life stream. Not many of those customs remained in his active protocols, but it gave him a sense of security to fall back on this one, as if the gesture could somehow turn fortune in Bumblebee's favour.

The offline bot didn't move and Bulkhead removed his servo, sighing morosely through his vents.

Sari watched the gesture intently, bolstered somewhat by Bulkhead's confidence in reaching out and making contact with their broken friend.

Her eyes went back to his faceplate, Bulkheads quiet words echoing through her head.

They 'll fix you up… Ratchet will bring you back.

Sari swallowed dryly. Bring you back. You have to come back Bumblebee. I don't know where you are, but you have to come back…

"It's not fair if you don't come back."

She was surprised at how she nearly whimpered the words, and suddenly she was reaching forward, arms wrapping around Bumblebee's jaw carefully but desperately, tears welling… stinging at her eyes as she shut them, as she clung to the cool metal faceplate and heard the quiet disrupted hum of his systems.

The reality of her friend's damage sunk in and she gasped, fear dousing her systems as she tried desperately, gaspingly to push it away with the thought of Bulkhead's words.

Ratchet will fix you … Ratchet will fix you… please let him be able to fix you… I wish I could fix you…

Even as she thought it, a strange shiver ran through Sari's body, and it felt like… like a part of her had obeyed her wish and was reaching out to Bumblebee's body to find out what was wrong.

A nanoklik later she recoiled as the feedback hit her.

Gasping sharply and letting out a strangled cry, she flung herself back as if burned, a horrible, twisting, painful sensation having shot through her very core.

"Sari, are you OK?"

Bulkhead's words were shocked and concerned, but the girl couldn't allay his fears… because she didn't know.

She stared at Bumblebee, whole body quivering, shaking her head slightly. The pain had been so intense… so suffocating… it lingered very dully even though she wasn't touching Bumblebee anymore and yet… she felt as if she'd hung on just an astrosecond longer she'd know exactly what it was and why it hurt.

As it was, she couldn't bring herself to do it… to touch him again and feel that core deep agony… it was too much for her, and she wondered with a sense of horror if she had just somehow tapped into what her friend was feeling right now…

"Sari? Speak to me kid, what happened, what's wrong?"

This time it was Ratchet. She felt Bulkhead's servo at her back, keeping her from falling backwards off the berth, and finally focussed her gaze on Ratchet, who was hovering over the berth looking at her with deep concern and a questioning expression. Her father hung back with an anxious expression, but he kept his distance to let the medic do what he was best at.

Sari glanced fearfully down at Bumblebee's impassive faceplates again and shook her head.

"I… I-I don't know… I just felt… felt something… it hurt… here." She realised she had been rubbing at her chest where there was a blue circle, the area she knew her primary power source was located, where she had pressed in the all-spark key to upgrade herself. If she still thought she was fully human, she would have said her heart was aching, but she wasn't even entirely sure she had one of those…

The medic frowned slightly, but in thought rather than annoyance. He ran a light scan over Sari's frame and his orbital ridges shot up.

"You're emitting a higher amount of all-spark energy than the readings I got when you recovered from your upgrade. You aren't injured though… do you have any idea what you just did? Why it might hurt?"

Sari looked between the impassive Bumblebee and Ratchet's worried faceplate.

"It's… not me that's hurting… I was just thinking that I wish I could fix Bumblebee, and then it was like my body tried to reach out and…" Her voice wavered as she felt more tears well from her eyes.

"I think I… felt… what he feels."

Ratchet looked a little stricken, understanding suddenly why she looked so terribly frightened. He reached out a servo and gently brushed the moisture from her cheeks with his finger.

"Aaaw, kid… don't worry about him, I know it's bad now, but give it time. His spark is hurting worse than his body right now, but we'll fix that too, we will. He's gonna need your help, but just be patient, he'll come back to you."

Sari could only look up at him gratefully, hopefully, and nod, wiping the rest of her tears away on a sleeve and sniffing.

"Is there any way I can help Ratchet? I know I'm a complete novice compared to you when it comes to Cybertronian repairs, but if there's anything I can do…" Isaac Sumdac offered solemnly from the other end of the medical berth where Bulkhead had lifted him.

Ratchet gave Sumdac a thoughtful look. "Thankyou for the offer professor, but most of what's broken even I need help to fix. Although… you did make him those rocket mods, and he lost both of them to the 'Cons-"

"Say no more, I'll make a new set immediately. And if there's anything you need, materials, tools, just ask." Sumdac stated, prompting a genuine smile of gratitude and a nod from Ratchet.

Isaac Sumdac gazed down at the smallest of the Autobots again, unable to stop wondering just what was beneath the sheet covering his protoform. Sure, he'd seen quite a bit of Megatron's internal structure… and he'd thought the damage nearly irreparable.

And yet he'd still had armour and obviously not been in an overwhelming amount of pain even with his head severed from his body, but… somehow, he had the feeling Bumblebee was in much worse condition than even the warlord had been.

He had a keen appreciation at least of just how serious the sub-compacts state was. And the magnitude of the job ahead of Ratchet.

At the moment the medic was consoling his daughter with news of the help he'd employed from Cybertron… and even in the graveness of the situation Isaac found himself curious and even a little eager about meeting these new mechs.

All the same, it was bitter-sweet that he would have the chance to meet these bots of science only because of Bumblebee's suffering.

And that was another question in itself, one he wasn't sure he could really ask. How much pain could a Cybertronian feel? It had become clear to the professor in the Autobot's time on earth that they could certainly suffer as much emotional pain as any human, but physically?

He couldn't really imagine what sensations their sensors let them experience. They seemed to enjoy a carwash like a human enjoyed a massage, and certainly, if Sari's accounts to him where anything to go off, their sensitivity to pain was greater than he expected.

And if it wasn't, he supposed with a sick churn of his stomach, then the torture needed to inflict the kind of pain that would make Bumblebee scream would have to be utterly horrendous.

When the three eventually left the still deep in recharge Bumblebee, Optimus slipped into the med-bay about a breem later. Ratchet had comm.'d him, and it had taken all his resolve just to let Bulkhead take over the monitors so he could visit.

The moment he set optics on the form inert on the med berth, the image of the arching, writhing, screaming mech he had last seen there flashed through his processor and he physically winced.

The worst part of that memory was the light of the scarred spark burnt deep into his memory core.

All the same, he needed to see the scout again. He needed to know Ratchet's assessment… most of all, he needed reassuring that the team mate who had saved all their afts was going to come through this in one piece.

"How long do you think it'll be before you can fix all the damage?" The red and blue bot asked softly as he stood by the berth looking intensely into the dented, scratched faceplate. It sent a dull throb through his spark just to think how he had seen that same faceplate smirking and smiling confidently one day… contorted in pain the next time… and now impassive as if offline.

"At least two or three earth weeks. Some things we can't fix until his self repairs finish regenerating his micro-circuitry and connection points. Can't put any armour on until his integration panels are fully online again." The red and white medic explained wearily, leaning with both servos on the edge of the berth.

"But you're able to numb his sensors right? He's not in pain when he's online?" Optimus asked with a hopeful tone. The look that passed over Ratchet's face as he met his gaze made the Prime's spark shudder uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid I… can't block it all out. I can only keep his sensors on the lowest sensitivity, and even then, the damage is so wide spread… You saw his spark, Optimus. Fact is, he's in a much more precarious position than he even looks. I can't risk over-taxing a damaged spark, and unfortunately the strength of EMP needed to completely block the pain could easily send him into spark-shock and we could lose him."

The Prime's faceplate fell and he looked back at the impassive expression of the offline sub-compact.

"I… talked to Jazz. He told me what he thinks happened to Bumblebee. I don't… Primus I wish I didn't believe him. Please, Ratchet, tell me he's wrong. Tell me they didn't…"

The intense blue gaze shot up and fixed on the medic's again, Optimus' spark lurching just from the look in the red and white bot's own optics.

"I'm sorry Optimus… it's bad. I could barely treat him the trauma glitches were so bad, at one point he regressed completely. He thought he was being… violated again…" Ratchet's expression twisted suddenly into an anger more intense than the young Prime remembered seeing on his friend's faceplate, "…by … Shockwave. As far as I can tell, they pretty much all participated in that form of torture, but Shockwave was here… he was the worst, he… he did that to Bumblebees spark. If I ever get my servos on the slagging pit-sucking scum I'll…"

The medic took a deep ventilation while Optimus stood rigid and frozen with shock at the information.

"How was he here without us knowing? Why didn't we see him during the fight?"

Ratchet looked up at his commander, the deep sorrow returning to his optics, slowly replacing the anger.

"The only one who got a glimpse was Prowl, and at the time he didn't even know what he was seeing. The fragger made a smokescreen escape, didn't even face us, wasn't even still there when the fight really got going."

Prime grimaced, clenching his servos against the berth. The two stood in silence while Optimus digested the shocking information, optics fixed on Bumblebee's faceplate once more, the weak but steady spark pulse on the monitor bleeping numbly through his audios.

He couldn't even stand to process what the scout had gone through. Could he have survived that?… Would he want to?

Did Bumblebee?

A pang of fear shot through the red and blue mech's chassis and he unconsciously reached out a servo and ran a thumb over the small bot's temple plating.

Primus he looks so small …

The Prime had never really thought about it, even though he'd referred to his team as a family more than once… but until now he'd not really processed the emotions around it. Bumblebee felt so much like a little brother. He'd never had one, and he was sure if the scout was his old self he would protest being thought of as a sparkling sibling, but Optimus couldn't help it.

And while the sub-compact had been loud and boisterous, Optimus had never really considered how little power he'd had. Bumblebee always needed back-up, and they'd always been there to give it to him… Optimus hadn't ever wanted to process what would happen if they weren't.

But I should have … If I'd just stopped to think about it… Primus, it's been a disaster waiting to happen. I should have given him something, should have trained him, made sure he had a proper means of defending himself, instead of letting him run off fighting with nothing but stingers and speed. I'm supposed to be a trained Elite Guard, why didn't I see this? Why didn't I fix it? What kind of a leader am I.. pit, what kind of a Brother would I be…

"I know what you're thinking kid. Don't even go there. Wouldn't matter how much training or weaponry Bumblebee had, five 'Cons against one bot… with odds like that against you, you'd need nothing short of the Magnus hammer to have a hope of winning. And you know he wouldn't have considered escape. Don't go blaming yourself, in truth we couldn't have done anything to prepare him for something like this." Ratchet said in a half scolding, half exhausted tone.

Optimus clenched his denta together and ex-vented, turning his gaze to the floor.

"I guess you're right… but I still can't help but feel like I failed him Ratchet. I'm the one with the training and weapons and I didn't even last as long as Prowl in that fight."

Ratchet scowled. "You're a Prime working with an informally trained crew on what has become the front line of Decepticon and Autobot hostilities. And the mechs at the top aren't even acknowledging it! Don't expect too much of yourself Optimus… you're doing all you can with what you've got, but we just aren't equipped for the action we're seeing."

The red and blue mech looked up to meet Ratchet's sincere gaze as the medic cycled through his vents in a sigh.

"As much as I hate to say it Optimus, something like this is probably what it will take for the Magnus to pay proper attention to what's going on down here on earth. I mean, come on… stasis cuffs? He gave us stasis cuffs to deal with Megatron and his top lieutenants? The others mighta thought that was a vote of confidence, but you and I both know it was a token to shut us up. They never really expected this team to be able to fight and capture Decepticons. They keep sending Sentinel out just to make sure we aren't all offline yet. Possibly mild interest in how our allspark fragment collecting is going, but they won't take the renewed Decepticon threat seriously until they think their own afts are on the line."

By the time the medic had finished, he was scowling and his vocaliser held a bitter edge.

"If any bots are to blame for what happened to Bumblebee, it's the bureaucrats at the top. And trust me… I plan to let them know it."

There was silence between them for a while as the Prime mulled over the medics words. He sighed softly, tracing his thumb over a long, shallow dent across the left hemisphere of Bumblebee's cranium. A blow hard enough to dent through a helm had to have hurt. Optimus' tanks churned at the thought of it.

It seemed however that Bumblebee was made of much tougher alloy than he'd known. He never saw the sub-compact as the sort who could take a beating like the one from the recording the Decepticons sent. Only a very select few bots of Bumblebee's size ever got to Minor, let alone Prime level in the Elite Guard simply because they couldn't hack the physical abuse training and endurance tests.

But Ratchet hadn't mentioned any sort of physical processor damage to the small yellow mech.

"By the way, Jazz got in contact with the team from Cybertron. They'll be starting off for Earth tomorrow, they should get here in about a week. All materials accounted for."

The medic looked up at Optimus' words, a new light of hope in his optics.

"Great… Bumblebee will probably be in recharge for another 6 days given the readings I've been getting from his self-repair systems. But the longer he takes the better. I don't want him to have to wait too long for the parts he really needs."

"About that, Ratchet… you haven't said anything, but I still couldn't help wondering… his processor wasn't damaged, was it? I mean… he took one pit of a beating…" the Prime voiced worriedly, running his thumb over another dent on the beetle's cranium, near his viciously damaged audio receiver.

The red and white mech shook his helm calmly.

"I haven't found any serious physical damage in any of my scans, and all the equipment showed his CPU and processors were fine. I can understand your concern… but you'd be surprised how tough sub-compact builds are. They look small and fragile, but they have more structural stability than mechs with bigger expanses of plating you know. His helm shape helped too, the round ones have better integrity than ones with flat surfaces. But…while the physical processor damage is minimal, the same cannot be said for him psychologically. I'm assuming you already knew that though, given it's part of the academy's training."

The Prime nodded and sighed through his vents, giving one more critical glance over the scout's offline form.

Prowl had not been able to stay away long.

Ratchet had sent him out to stretch his servos, having had a hard time convincing the ninja-bot that he really did need to take breaks from the med-bay when he could get them, even if he'd rather stay by Bumblebee's side.

The sentiment was admirable… but currently completely unnecessary given the sub-compact was in deep stasis and didn't know when he was or wasn't there.

His final winning argument had been that when Bumblebee was awake again, he would be even less likely to want to leave his side, and that would mean long stints of confinement to the med-bay, so he really did need his time outside when he could get it.

He had gone to his grounding place, sitting high in the tree in his quarters, trying to meditate.

It had proved impossible, with all the anxiety in his spark. And quite apart from that, every time he offlined his optics, he saw Bumblebee fettered up against the Decepticon brig wall, looking colourless and offline.

After about two cycles of that, he'd given up and gone for a drive, accompanying Jazz on his patrol.

Neither had spoken much, but Prowl had felt, and very much appreciated, the waves of calm support that Jazz had maintained towards him.

It had indeed helped to fortify his spark against the fear he felt every time he looked at Bumblebee.

It was a fear he wished he could overcome. He so wanted to be able to drive it out with logic, but no self assurances of being able to help Bumblebee could make him believe that he could, without doubt, recover the mech they had known.

He had no control over the damage to Bumblebee's spark or body, he knew that. He could be there, he could give his all to support the scout, but if the pain proved too much for Bumblebee… or if his spark inextricably gave up it's incredible fight… there was absolutely nothing Prowl could do.

He was unaccustomed to feeling so helpless, and it only settled the fear deeper within him.

But he would not stop fighting it.

Prowl had made it clear to Ratchet that he would recharge with Bumblebee in the med-bay until Bumblebee was online again. The medic had not complained or protested, thanking him for his dedication to helping him by acting as an extra monitor.

The black and gold mech knew just as well as Ratchet did though that his reasons were also selfish. He couldn't stand to recharge away from Bumblebee simply to allay his own fears, and probably to stave off memory purges and nightmares.

It was true that he felt to a degree that he probably was a help to the scout. He knew too much by now about the energies around a spark and a mech, conscious or unconscious.

His cyber ninja training had been as much lessons in spirituality as they had actual fighting techniques. And processor over matter had been the ultimate proof to him that the unseen energies were as real as any solid matter that could be described and defined.

He knew that on some level below either of their perception, both he and Bumblebee took comfort in the others presence at the moment.

A feeling that seemed confirmed, though not entirely verbally, by Ratchet.

The air in the base remained heavy with tension and anxiety in the following joors while Bumblebee remained in stasis. It probably wouldn't change once he was online, not by much at least, but the crew did not fail to visit him in the same pattern as the first time for next three days.

It was the night after the fourth that anything tension breaking happened. It was just unfortunate that it broke the steady anxiety with terrible fear.

Prowl was in a fitful recharge. He could not settle his processor, even though he was technically in stasis. He didn't consciously know just how tuned in he was to the mech beside him.

Later, he would wish that he was more aware in fact… but it wouldn't actually do anything to change the outcome of events.

He, and indeed Ratchet, only became fully aware of what was happening when Bumblebee screamed.

"Primus, Ratchet, what's happening? What's wrong with him?"

Prowl was sitting up next to the scout, servos hovering uncertainly above the covered and quivering protoform as the still offline scout whimpered and begged and cried out in pain against an unknown assailant. The Medic had jolted online quickly, body responding before his processor had fully caught up. By the time he'd reached the monitors however, he was perfectly capable of reading them… it was just that they didn't entirely make sense.

"I… I'm not sure what's going on, he shouldn't be having memory purges, but that's what it looks like… and his spark is in distress, but he's in a powered down state, and I blocked his memory cache from doing a stasis purge, so I don't understa-"

The medic was cut off by another scream from the sub-compact before warning notifications began popping up on the screens and he swore.

"Primus almighty, he's coming out of the stasis lock! He shouldn't be able to do it for at least another 42 hours according to the monitors, I just don't understand thi-… no… oh no, no no no, I'm a complete idiot…"

"What, Ratchet what is it, what's happeni-" Prowl's frantic questions were cut off by alarms beeping and Bumblebee screaming as his optics onlined and he thrashed weakly.

"HNNNNN-NNNOOOO PLEASE… STOP, MAKE THEM STOP-" The broken cries were silenced as the sub-compact's vocaliser seized and barked out static. He twisted, servos scrabbling weakly at Prowl's chassis, and the ninja-bot acted without thinking, automatically drawing the battered protoform into his arms in an attempt to comfort him.

"Ratchet what is going on? What's happening to him?" Prowl asked anxiously again as the small mech writhed in his hold, keening and clawing weakly at his windshield.

The medic looked entirely stricken as he reached out to the scout and physically tried to soothe him, running one servo over his head and placing the other on an arm to steady the small bot's writhing.

"Shhhhh Bumblebee, it was a dream, no one's hurting you, it's a spark purge, I am sorry, I am so so sorry I forgot this would happen…"

Ratchet tersely dismissed a ping from Prime, who had obviously been roused from recharge by the sound of screaming. Ratchet wasn't concerned right now with how worried the rest of team were, they could wait until he had the situation in servo.

It took another klik of shuddering and sobbing keens for the scout to finally go somewhat limp in Prowl's hold, still conscious but obviously aware he was no longer trapped in whatever dream it was he had been having.

There was a crackle of static again before a soft, torn little voice finally came forth.

"Ra-atchet what… what's happeni-*zzt*-ing… my spark hu-*bzzzt*-urts…"

The medic continued to run a soothing servo over the small head as it turned to look at him sideways with tired, underpowered optics, deep pain evident in the stiff posture and tense expression.

"This is a by-product of what the 'Cons did to you… it's been so long since I was involved in any cases like yours, I forgot that… Bumblebee, every time they… overloaded… they sent negatively charged energy into your frame, and once your system reaches it's limit, your spark absorbs any excess. It later expels that energy when it has sufficient means to do so… I am so so sorry I didn't remember, but you'll have to brace yourself, your spark is going to keep hurting as it discharges as much negative energy as it can now your tank is full, and once that happens you'll purge your tank completely."

Bumblebee's shuddering returned and increased during Ratchets explanation, and by the end of it he was shaking his helm.

"N-no, I don't want anymore- hnnnn"

And just like that he was writhing again, arching against Prowl with a static laced whimper as his spark started another wave of negative energy displacement.

"It's alright, we're going to stay with you, you'll get through this, you will…"

Prowl said the only things he could think of, holding the twitching, writhing frame as the scout got progressively worse, crying out when it became too much and collapsing in clicking sobs as the energy fluctuation passed.

It wasn't long before Bumblebee turned off his own vocaliser to prevent further damage to it, but it distressed Ratchet and Prowl all the same when he would tense in silent screams of agony.

"Are you sure there's nothing you can do to help him?" The black and gold mech sounded utterly desperate, and it only made the medic's spark ache more to give him his answer.

"There's nothing I can do, we can only try to help him ride it out. Even when a mech's spark is undamaged it's too dangerous to try and siphon the negative charge without unbalancing the basic spark structure. It has to do it on it's own, and there's no pain relief for it. THIS is the reason why so many violated bots terminate themselves… after their ordeal they just can't handle the spark purges if they don't have anybody close enough to help them deal with it mentally or physically."

"Purges? Ratchet are you telling me this is going to happen more than once?" The ninja-bot sounded horrified despite himself and in his arms Bumblebee shook his head and clicked again before arching and quivering from another negative discharge.

The red and white medic, looking stricken and still trying to comfort Bumblebee physically the only way he could, met the sleek mech's gaze. "In cases where the mech was… was violated several times in a short period there's only been one to three purges, each shorter than the last… but I've never seen a case as severe as Bumblebee's, I don't know how many times it might happen."

It took two long, agonising hours for Bumblebee's spark to go through his full tank of energon.

The sub-compact had been writhing and spasming the whole time, utterly exhausted by the end but completely unprepared for the result of the agony.

Ratchet had had the foresight to find a large, empty oil drum for when it happened.

"Right, Prowl, quick, help him lean over…. That's it, hold him, careful…"

Bumblebee had given a particularly violent shudder, and the moment Prowl helped him to lean to the side and Ratchet placed the oil barrel under his helm, he purged his tanks.

It was a particularly nasty purge, and Prowl had never seen anything like it… viscous, toxic looking dark blue liquid came up in wave after wave, and he couldn't believe Bumblebee even had the tanks to hold it all, it seemed like so much.

When at last it seemed it was all up, alarms began to go off on Ratchet's machinery again, warning of the sub-compacts empty tanks and urgent need for energon. His spark was close to going into serious distress but the medic had known what to expect and was quick to act.

He had Prowl lay Bumblebee down again and swiftly he re-attached the energon line to the direct tank feed as he had the first time.

Bumblebee's vital signs quickly stabilised again, leaving him looking completely drained and utterly exhausted.

"It's alright Bumblebee, I'm going to put you back in stasis so you can rest, you won't feel any pain for quite a while, it's alright…"

The sub-compact's optics brightened slightly and a look of panic stole over his features, his vocaliser crackling back online as he shook his helm weakly.

"N-no, don't… don't let me dream again I don't want to do it again, please Ratchet don't make me…"

The Red and white bot was quick to sooth him with a gentle servo over his helm once more.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, you won't dream this time, I'm so sorry I didn't account for that… I'm adding the codes to stop it, it's ok, you won't dream again, I promise. It'll be alright Bumblebee, it will. You can rest now."

Either because Ratchet had allayed his fears or he just didn't have the energy to keep fighting, Bumblebee relented and collapsed against the berth, letting the stasis codes wash over him.

There was silence in the room once more, broken only by the soft beeping of the monitors and the tap of Ratchet's digits on his keyboard as he added the necessary changes to the program keeping the scout in stasis.

"I thought you said you made that thing so he wouldn't have memory defrags?" Prowl spoke up softly, trying his best not to sound accusatory as he restrained himself from touching the offline mech, worried he might pull him out of the much needed recharge somehow.

Ratchet took a deep ventilation and scrubbed at his tired faceplate with a servo, not quite facing the black and gold bot.

"I did. What I didn't account for was dreams. Fabrications. His processor is barred from reviewing the actual memories, but trauma that bad? He can't focus on anything else. His CPU substituted nightmares that probably involved a similar circumstance, but not with the same bots. I just added some lines of code that will make it much more similar to the kind of stasis we were all in when we first crashed here."

"So he won't really feel like he's been in stasis when he next comes to? Can he even online again on his own?" Prowl asked with a trace of worry in his vocals.

"No, he can come online on his own when his systems are ready, and he'll feel much more rested but no… he won't get a sense of time lapse."

There was silence again between them for a while, both knowing that despite it being about 4am human time they neither of them were going to get any more recharge for a while, not with their anxiety levels over the scout's condition so high. Ratchet had however finally answered Prime's worried comm. He hadn't liked leaving Optimus and the others edgy and without any idea what was going on in the locked med-bay, but Bumblebee was his priority right now.

The ninja-bot didn't seem to have lost any of his anxiety over the episode yet, and he'd been privy to all of it. And glancing at the pale blue visor, Ratchet would say the others probably had it better off not witnessing it.

"Ratchet… what is this going to do to his spark? I know you said it has to do it and that we can't help but… it's damaged. Are you sure more of these purges won't make it worse?"

The thought had niggled at the back of Prowl's processor for the better part of an hour as he simply sat and thought.

The medic was currently refreshing the pre-processed energon feeder running to the scout's tank port.

"From my readings, I'd say the negative energy displacement, while it's painful, isn't doing a lot of physical harm to the spark, even with the scarring. It does mean we have to be quick to secure the fresh energy feed after he brings up all the negatised energon slag. That's the most crucial point where things could go wrong. The purges might feel bad but they'll do his spark good once he's through them, that energy is part of the reason his spark is weaker and unstable."

"And mentally?" Prowl's tone was soft, but the heaviness of his words was tangible.

Ratchet swallowed to try and lubricate his dry intake as he fixed the micro-fibre sheet over Bumblebee's recharging form again.

"That's anyone's guess. Sparks might be more of a mystery than processors, but even knowing the pattern of reactions he's going to go through, I can't tell you that I know for sure he'll take this well. Especially since I can't say just how many purges it's going to take."

"So… that stuff he brought up… what was that?"

Ratchet had moved the barrel that contained Bumblebee's purgings into a corner and stuck a lid on it. He grimaced at the mention of it.

"That is what energon looks like when the purest energy is burnt out of it's remaining composition is completely negatively charged. It's toxic, I'll have to specially treat it to even dispose of it. The process a cybertronian body goes through to even produce something like that is hard on a tank. His systems have to initiate a loop mechanism to feed energon past the spark and back into the main tank rather than just straight to the spark for pure energy burn. His tank is probably going to need replacing by the end of this, but I've already got that component, and at least that's a routine sort of job, it should be quick."

"What about the surface sensor damage? Can you fix that while he's offline? It's just that… I noticed he was curling in on himself because of the spark purge, but then it just hurt him more because of the plating damage to his midriff." Prowl's faceplate was pleading.

Ratchet knew how hard it was for him… to be holding someone as they went through all that agony for the first time. As a medic, it had been one of the hardest experiences for him when he'd been younger. He hated shaking his head at the question, bitter at the answer he had to give.

"I can't. That's as much protoform plating damage as sensor and outer armour. I take that away and he'll be both far too exposed and still in pain, the injuries are so extensive and wide-spread. We'll have to wait for the team with supplies from cyber Ron to arrive, they have the new protoform alloys I need to fix it, and that can only be done once his sensor net has a chance to repair the micro-circuit damage. It's… Primus, I know it's a big job, but every time I think about all the separate details it does my processor in…"

Ratchet placed his palms on the berth edge and hung his helm, sighing through his vents.

"Do you know how much longer they'll be?" the black and gold mech asked quietly.

The medic was glad to be able to nod at the question.

"About two or three earth days now depending on the galactic conditions. Trust me, it might be a huge job, but I can't wait to be able to start. I don't want to see him like this anymore… more than anything I never wanted to see a mech like I did in the wars once they were over. The sooner he has a body not causing him pain, the sooner he can try to heal the things I can't physically fix."

The second huge ship to arrive on earth was not quite as big as the one Sentinel Prime insisted on landing in the park every time he came, but it was still a bit of a tight fit to get in next to the elite guard cruiser without hitting any human dwellings.

"See that? Now THAT's flying for ya. I'd like to see Commander Springer try that."

Wheeljack's helm panels flashed dully as he rolled his optics, Perceptor not showing even an iota of irritation despite the fact Rodimus Prime had not ceased his litanies of grandeur for most of the journey.

He was a good kid, Wheeljack thought, but seriously over-confident, and far too quick to take huge risks. He'd just been lucky so far that none of them had ended in catastrophic disaster. His last run in with the 'Cons of course didn't count. He'd just been doing his job, and valiantly at that, his whole team had been specially commended despite their painful defeat.

But again, luck had been with the flame coloured mech and his team. The same could not be said of the bot they had come to help.

"Come on ya Hot Rod, we got work to do, you're gonna hafta help haul supplies. Ratch' sent me a map to their base from here, it's about a breem's drive away, and we got plenty of stuff to move."

The Prime wilted slightly as he stood from the pilots seat and stretched out the kinks in his joints.

He made no complaints however. In fact he'd been exceptionally compliant with any and all tasks relating to their mission of getting supplies to earth to repair the scout.

The engineer knew he was quite keen to meet the small mech and shook his head to himself as he walked towards the cargo bay with Perceptor keeping pace. It had become clear to him that Rodimus had no real idea what he would be seeing when they arrived.

He had been briefed on the events, but none of the extensive damage. All he'd seen were the vid files and a few injury shots. The sheer magnitude hadn't really been presented to him, or the three other bots that had been assigned to the trip.

Wheeljack had a feeling it would turn into a very sobering experience for all of them.

Except perhaps Perceptor… he was hardly ever anything but sober.

Once every team member had taken their share of the supply load, Rodimus and Wheeljack lead the way to the base of the earthbound team of Autobots.

The Prime and his subordinate Hot-Shot were busy talking about how insane the organic planet was, while the two toughliners taking up the rear talked quietly between themselves. Perceptor, not having a vehicular alt. mode, was riding in Wheeljack's cab. His share of the load being most of the tools, he was able to carry it all in his sub-space.

The Engineer was glad he had also downloaded an info packet thoughtfully sent by the earth medic regarding local road laws. More than once, he had to bark instructions to Rodimus, who had either not bothered to download the same packet, or just didn't care.

More than once, he heard an annoyed huff from Sunstreaker or Sideswipe when they came to a stop for, what was to them, no apparent reason. But nevertheless, they all managed to get through the human settlement without any major incidents (he didn't suppose the beeping sounds from the various local drivers counted as major, but there had been at least ten of those… maybe there was some audio signal thing used on earth Ratchet had forgotten to include?).

When they rolled up to the base, it was not quite what they expected.

Typically a military outpost was a nice, clean, thick walled building with few windows.

The place they had arrived at was… well, if he could approximate it to anything, he would have to go with abandoned energon storage facility, but even they had less windows. All the same, there was a well used air about the place and clear repairs and improvements had been made on the original structure. And, he supposed, as he let Perceptor out of his cab to unload his cargo of materials, they weren't technically a military outpost. Just a repair crew that had found itself on the front line on a completely foreign world.

It was as Perceptor finished fishing stuff out of his back seats and Wheeljack transformed that Optimus Prime came out of the base to meet them.

His faceplate was schooled into a welcoming look, but it was easy to see the underlying stress and anxiety etched onto his faceplate and in his stance and optics.

"Perceptor, Wheeljack. Good to have you and your team on earth, and thanks for coming as fast as you could… if you need any help getting any of your gear into the base-"

He held out a servo and both scientists shook it, but Perceptor held up his servo to decline the Prime's offer for assistance.

"We'll be quite alright, thankyou. Just show us where to take it all and we'll get started right away."

The look that flickered over the Prime's faceplate did not bode well.

"Sure thing… I have to warn you though it's… not a good time, right now… something's going on, and I'm not sure if Ratchet can meet you straight away. You can comm. Him, he might let you both into the med-bay, but I'm… not entirely clear on what the situation is at the moment."

The Blue and Red mech explained as he led them inside, the others following silently and curiously with their loads.

Wheeljack was about to ask Optimus to explain what exactly the situation was when a sound answered for him. A distant, ragged scream echoed from deeper in the base and he felt a shiver run down his spinal strut.

Oh … something is not right…

The further the Prime led them into the base, the louder the cries were, until they stood outside the closed door of what was apparently their med-bay. The red and blue bot put a servo to his helm as he pinged the medic that their help had arrived. After a few nanokliks, the door slid open and Ratchet's tired, drawn faceplates appeared. He nodded to the scientists in way of a greeting.

"Come on in… the supplies aren't going to be needed yet, your team can leave them just outside there and go for a briefing with Jazz."

Wheeljack and Perceptor nodded, the former wincing as another weak cry rent the air and they heard a slight rattling sound. The rest of their team stopped trying to see past them into the medbay when Optimus gave them a disapproving frown and closed the door behind the two scientists.

The team had the grace to look sheepish as they deposited their loads against the wall, Hot Shot wincing as another scream came muffled from the room beside them.

Wheeljack had been correct in his assumption that something was not right.

He was momentarily stunned to stillness, helm panels alight, when he lay optics on the mech they had come to fix.

He was half visible, stripped down to his protoform, lower half obscured by a scrunched up thermal micro-fibre sheet, torso held loosely by another mech, larger, black and gold, sitting on the berth as the small, mangled frame jerked and quivered, keening in pain.

He thought he had prepared himself adequately for the sight of the damaged bot… but he had seriously not expected him to be in the midst of agony from his trauma. If he could find his vocaliser, he'd be asking why Ratchet wasn't… hadn't, done anything to stop the scout's pain, but the medic beat him to it.

"Spark purge. This is his second. The first brought him out of induced stasis before he was ready. This one started up not long after he finally come online on his own about half a cycle ago."

Perceptor nodded at the explanation, having suspected as much. His faceplate didn't really show it, but his dim optics were a testament to the emotional effect seeing the sub-compact was having on him. He too had thought himself adequately prepared… for the sight of an offline and damaged body awaiting their skills to repair it. He'd forgotten about spark purges. It had been a very, very long time since he'd dealt with a case of serious violation causing negative energy build up in the victims spark.

It was horribly like revisiting the dark vorns of the great war.

He and Wheeljack tentatively approached the monitors as Ratchet went about setting up a fresh energon feed to administer the moment the purge was over. He spoke as he did.

"Perceptor, Wheeljack, this is Prowl. He's part of our team. He's also the mech who got Bumblebee out of his cell on the Decepticon ship."

The Black and Gold mech on the berth, holding the scout… Bumblebee, half in his lap, glanced up and caught Wheeljack's optics.

The Engineer's helm panels flashed a dull blue. The intensity of emotion within the mech's gaze only served to remind him of just how dire the situation they had walked into was.

Primus how he'd forgotten the worst of working as a temp medic in the war. It was never the injuries, it wasn't even always the injured mechs… it was seeing the pain it caused every bot that victim mattered to.

It had been… confusing at first, to online. He didn't feel like he'd even recharged since waking up from his nightmare, but he couldn't remember returning to it either. He also didn't feel as drowsy as he had before. He was, however, still in a fair amount of pain.

He vented hard when he onlined his optics and tried to move to get a handle of what had happened.

Moving was not a good idea, and he groaned, feeling a presence nearby and turning his helm to find Prowl looking at him with concern.

"Welcome back." The ninja bot said gently, trying to quirk a smile and utterly failing as he ran a gentle servo over the scout's own.

Bumblebee blinked. "Hey. Did I… I woke up… and…" The small mech frowned as his memory core booted up and quickly his cache resurfaced. The incident from the last time he had woken up came back in a flash… Ratchet HAD knocked him out again, after the… spark purge, he'd called it… so why didn't Bumblebee's processor feel like any time had passed when daylight was coming through the skylights.

Prowl seemed to read the scout's confusion and answered before he could even ask.

"When Ratchet put you back into stasis, he modified the code. It was similar to the cryo-stasis we were in when we crashed on earth, that's why it doesn't feel like you've lost any time."

Bumblebee felt slightly less anxious given that explanation. He realised he also felt slightly… better. Having caught up on so much lost recharge had certainly done… something for him, though he couldn't pinpoint what. He supposed it was a little easier to process clearly.

"How long was I out then… all up?"

Prowl sat on the side of the berth, servo still over the scouts, as though afraid to break contact.

"6 days. Ratchet says your self repairs are fully online again and the micro-circuit damage is starting to mend itself. The new parts and materials for your repairs are nearly here as well. Once Ratchet and his colleagues get to work you'll start feeling a lot better." Prowl finally managed the ghost of a smile as he fussed, straightened out the lines connecting Bumblebee to the monitors and medical grade energon.

"Did he… figure out how many of those purges he thinks I'm going to have?" Bumblebee tried to keep his voice from wavering, but the dread in his tone was obvious.

Prowl sighed softly through his vents, not able to look Bumblebee in the optic. "No…he said it would likely be 3 or 4, but until the mechs come with all the specialised equipment, he can't know for sure."

There was a soft whimper and Prowl squeezed the servo under his in a silent apology.

"I… hope that means I'm about to get halfway through it…"

Prowl's gaze snapped up to Bumblebee's faceplate to see the blue optics paling, a slight shiver running through the scout before he tensed. He snapped his head around to the monitors, and sure enough the one registering the sub-compact's spark pulse was showing signs of irregular spark activity.

"Oh Bumblebee, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

Bumblebee didn't even give much thought to Prowl moving to hold him. By then the pain had started pulsing out from his chest to the rest of his frame and he turned off his vocal processor again.

Ratchet returned quickly once Prowl had comm.'d him, but by that time the small damaged mech wasn't even aware of when the energon line was detached from him again.

Spark purging, to Bumblebee, was like a Decepticon violating him from the inside… the deep, sick churning in his tank coupled with the spasming, stabbing pains in his spark, rolling into climaxes of agony again and again… more than once he half-regressed back into the memories, the only thing grounding him to reality being the feel of Prowl's soothing servos on his helm or arm or his voice reminding him that it would pass, he would get better, it would make him feel alright if he just got through it…

He arched, pain lancing across the mutilated sensor net under his ruined midriff plating, causing him to curl back in on himself until the next wave of excruciating torture attacked him from the inside.

It was worse than the first one… this time the mute setting on his vocaliser was destroyed after only two breems by the pain putting pressure on every standard program in his frame. He screamed and cried out uncontrollably, knowing he was re-wrecking his vocal unit and hating it even as Ratchet tried to reassure him that he'd fix it as many times as was necessary, and that he should scream all he needed to.

But Bumblebee didn't want to scream, he loathed hearing his own cries of pain now, he felt pathetic and used and useless… the feeling, through the haze of the purge, made him so disgusted with himself he couldn't even sob. And what was more his vocaliser now became another source of stinging pain to add to his agony.

He was barely coherent enough to register the arrival of two new mechs he'd never met. He also didn't really care, even though he knew what their arrival meant. It was just two more bots to witness his pathetic continued existence, and all he wanted was to curl up, fall offline and never wake up.

By the time the purge crescendoed with the evacuation of his tanks, he thought that might just happen. The horrible feeling of his spark suffocating gripped him as warnings of no energon and imminent spark shock flashed through his HUD, until Ratchet re-attached the energon line.

By that point, he was so exhausted he didn't even want to process the thought of talking to the new arrivals or having his repairs explained. He was grateful, at least, that they just allowed Prowl to sit with him, stroking his helm and lulling him into recharge again.

"Jazz, I need you to come with me and the Jet-twins, immediately."

The black and white ninja bot's helm snapped around, faceplate blank with surprise.

"What's up SP?"

The blue and orange Prime strolled into the plant's main room with his usual scowl of importance… which was a good sign, given it was his normal neutral expression.

Jazz had been sitting with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe explaining some basic earth culture, Rodimus and Hotshot having left with Bulkhead to be shown the patrol routes.

"Had Cybertron command on the line, our team has been called in to chase down the escaped convict Wasp. He was last spotted in the Gama section."

"Gamma section? But that's about as far from here as you can get without goin' to Cybertron, why do they need us? Don't they have retrieval teams for that?"

The look that passed over his commanders faceplate suggested he agreed with the cyber-ninja's thoughts.

"Apparently all their attempts have been unsuccessful, and given he's been classified a high risk prisoner, Ultra Magnus doesn't want to take chances, so he's sending in the best he's got, which is us. Come on, these mechs will cope fine on their own, they've got plenty of backup now."

With that the disgruntled Prime turned on his heel and walked out.

Jazz sighed, standing as well. He supposed, given the screaming in the med-bay had subsided about half a cycle ago, he could chance a quick word with Prowl before he left. He did not like having to break his promise to Optimus to stay until Bumblebee had truly begun to recover. Maybe if he made sure they caught Wasp fast he could get back here where he felt it more necessary to be.

"I'll catch you two cats later. No giving OP's team any grief ya hear? They got enough of that in spades right now."

Jazz was pleased to see the rare sincerity in the two Twin warriors optics as they nodded, and he headed towards the med-bay to make a quick farewell to Prowl.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee's processor was slow to reboot, not that he expected any less. In truth, he felt nothing emotionally. There was the usual aches and pains, and despite feeling drained, he was not tired enough to try and re-initiate his recharge.

He realised vaguely that there were voices nearby. And after another few astroseconds he also realised he didn't know two of them.

His optics dimly onlined, brightening sluggishly as his memory cache vaguely supplied that the two new mechs he could hear had arrived during his last spark-purge. Of course, at the time he hadn't been in any fit state to pay them any attention, but now he quickly realised that they must be the bots Ratchet had called upon to help fix him.

Honing in on the sounds of their conversation, and now their actual words as well, Bumblebee turned his helm and spotted the backs of three mechs standing in front of Ratchet's main monitor.

On the right was Ratchet himself. Beside him was a round helmed red and teal bot with some large scope looking thing mounted on one shoulder.. He also seemed to have the strangest vocaliser the sub-compact had ever heard. Beside him on the left was a bot with a sturdier looking build with small twitching sensory attachments on his back. His plating was mostly white and he'd seem fairly ordinary if not for the two panels either side of his helm lighting up every time he spoke.

This bot was tapping something on the screen, and looking up Bumblebee recognised the image as a schematic of his own frame type.

"We'll we want to start on the deepest but least sensitive damage, so that would be the shoulder joint replacement wouldn't it?" the white wingleted mech was saying.

"I don't see why it has to be the least sensitive. It makes more sense to fix the very worst of the damage first. I am aware of the emotional side of the issue, but I don't think giving it a little more time would result in making it any easier." The middle mech replied in his odd voice.

"Yea, but there is a logical point to doing the shoulder first Perceptor. If he has another memory regression while you're working near his spark, he's likely to do something that'll hurt the broken joint again, and I'm sure we all agree that easing his pain is top priority." Ratchet argued quietly.

Perceptor nodded his helm.

"That is true… alright, I suppose the shoulder won't take long given at least that it's a standard procedure. I just want to take a look at the damaged joint to see how we're going to have to go about removing- Oh…"

The scientist had turned to find a pair of dim optics looking at him from the berth. The others looked around with slight surprise too, and the white one's helm panels flashed dully without him actually saying anything.

"Hey, Bumblebee… feeling any different?" Ratchet asked with a tenuous smile, going over to the berth side.

The scout would have shrugged if he could, but instead he tested his vocaliser with a non-committal noise before answering. "'Bout the same… bit less tired."

His gaze travelled to the faceplate of the flashy helmed mech who had come up beside Ratchet with a kind, almost curious look. It was hard to tell, he had an oddly shaped face guard and most of his expression seemed to come through his optics and helm lights.

"Oh, Bee, these are the mechs I asked for help. This is Wheeljack, and the other bot there is Perceptor."

Ratchet explained briefly as Perceptor too came into view, giving him a nod and the barest hint of a smile.

"Uh… Hi." Bumblebee felt rather stupid… of course, these were the mechs who were the reason he was going to be pretty much rebuilt. And he couldn't think of anything to say to them except 'Hi'. A 'thanks' for their efforts might be prudent but… Bumblebee still wasn't entirely clear with himself on his feelings of continued existence. The thanks could wait for when he actually felt thankful to be online.

Neither of the scientists seemed at all bothered by his lack lustre greeting though, and Wheeljack, gentler than the scout would have expected, picked up the servo of his less damaged arm and shook it softly, gaze intense.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Bee… I can call you Bee, can't I?"

Bumblebee blinked, feeling slightly dumbfounded by how… polite?… no… respectful the mech sounded.

"Um, yeah, that's fine." He replied quietly, vocaliser scratchy with static.

"Oh, here, let me just fix that for ya." The bot let go of his servo, helm panels still flashing as he pulled a stylus looking thing from his subspace and hovered it over the sub-compacts neck plating.

It gave off a high pitched buzz, sliding down to a lower frequency as Wheeljack held it in place over his plating.

The yellow mech was just wondering when he'd actually use the thing and what it was for when the white bot pulled it away and said cheerily. "There we go. Try it out, should feel better now."

Bumblebee gave him a weird look. "Try what ou- Oh…how… did you just…"

The engineer's light panels glowed happily and he held up his device.

"It's a percussive maintenance tool. Invented it myself. It sent high vibration pulses of sound into your vocoder components causing them to settle back into their correct position. The frequency is so high you don't even feel a thing."

Bumblebee had to admit, beneath the usual general ache that was nagging at his processor and the threat of memories on the verge of his consciousness at every moment, he found room to be genuinely impressed by the device.

He really found he was starting to warm to Wheeljack. Despite the fact he seemed to be constantly suppressing a cheery attitude for the sake of the situation around him, the scout didn't feel bitter towards him for it. He… kind of liked the change from his own depressed and pained state.

"Now, Bee, about starting the repairs…" Ratchet spoke up, drawing the sub-compacts attention. "We wanted to start the moment you were awake again. The faster we get to it, the less pain you'll be in. But on the subject of that, you know I can't numb all your sensors completely due to the damage it could further cause to your spark… we've been discussing alternative measures of pain relief for while we work on you. Now, you've had High-grade before, yes?"

Bumblebee blinked again, and if he could have, he would have canted his helm at the medic. "Uuuh… Yea. Not for a long time though."

"That's OK, I just wanted to be sure you were familiar with the effects. We've decided it's probably the best means of dulling the physical pain while we work on you, so it doesn't bother you at all. I can use the EMP on your lower half again, and a regulated amount of High Grade should overcharge your systems enough to fuzz the rest of your sensors without taxing your spark by off lining sensor connections completely. Are you OK with that?"

"Oh… I… guess, yeah." The scout conceded. Really, he didn't think he would have had a choice. Again, that strange lost sensation overwhelmed him. He was being asked his opinion on his own body like he had any control over it…frankly, he'd expected them to just do whatever they planned, and hoped he would actually feel a little better by the end of it. He wasn't even sure he wanted input in the process… what could he do but agree to let them try and ease his pain by any means necessary? He was desperate for his frame to stop hurting so much, but at the same time… what would he even do with a perfectly repaired body? He still couldn't find it in him to imagine life going back to how it was. He was functioning moment to moment, praying the pain didn't get worse again, wanting an escape from the whole situation and knowing there really wasn't one given deliberate off-lining wasn't an option.

The lost feeling made him crave the stability that had been there somewhere… something had anchored him for the past few joors, so what had happe-

Oh…

The realisation of what was missing manifested as a niggling anxiety and he looked around, not spotting the one mech he really wanted right now.

"Hey… where's Prowl?"

"Oh… I sent him off to get some air. I can comm. him to come, if you want. We're only going to be working on replacing your shoulder joint, so you can talk to him. Mind, you'll be fairly overcharged so the conversation might not be intelligent." Ratchet gave him a tentative half smile, seemingly trying to cheer him up like Wheeljack was.

"When is conversation with me ever intelligent?" Bumblebee muttered deadpan, still not quite finding it within him to be able to laugh at his situation.

Ratchet didn't seem to know if he was joking or not, so the scout confirmed that he certainly did still want Prowl to come.

When Prowl did get there, looking happy to see Bumblebee awake, Ratchet had just finished setting up the energon feed to supply medical high-grade straight into the sub-compact's tank.

"Feeling any better?" The black and gold mech slipped around the preparing bots to Bumblebee's right side, so he wouldn't be in their way.

Despite the fact the damaged chest plates were revealed, the micro fibre blanket now draped over the small mechs lower half, Prowl's gaze remained fixed on Bumblebee's. He attempted to give the cyber ninja a look that told him how grateful and relieved he felt to have him there again.

"Kinda. Might get better when the high-grade kicks in, or so Ratchet says. Just to warn you… I talk about really random stuff when I'm overcharged. You can shut me up by just talking AT me though."

Prowl gave him a soft, amused look and nodded. "Can't concentrate on thinking of something to say and listening at the same time? I used to get that with High Grade."

Bumblebee gave him a slightly surprised look. "You drank high-grade?"

The black and gold bot gave him a 'very funny' look. "Yes, of course I did. I wasn't always the stiff I am now, you know."

The light that statement brought to the scout's optics made Prowl think it was well worth it to take a dig at himself.

"Alright, I'm ready when you two are. Got the part prepared?" Ratchet addressed his fellows, both nodding, tools laid out pristinely next to the new joint and proto-fixtures on a table beside Perceptor.

"Yep, good to go Ratch." Wheeljack said, making sure he had all the cleaning equipment in order.

Once it was clear Bumblebee was well affected by the high-grade, they began the shoulder joint replacement.

It was just as well that the sub-compact became completely uncaring of what was going on with the surgery or how the mechs working on him were reacting to the damage they found, because they were horrified.

Wheeljack's helm panels flashed an angry red as he got to the deepest damage, finding evidence of his brutal torture. The 'Cons had exploited the injury more than once, digging clawed digits and weapons in several times, completely fragging up half the sensory relays.

Several other fuel and power lines were scarred excessively where they had tried to self-repair again and again, but all secondary energon lines had already been patched by Ratchet, damaged too badly to be fixed by the scout's nanites.

On a clean table, they had lain out layer after layer of removed material from the joint. Dermal plating, joint casing, tension cables, destroyed wires and micro-circuits, and eventually, they had the joint and it's temporary support struts completely exposed.

Perceptor was given the task of carefully separating the whole joint from salvageable original frame areas. It was a small margin, but the scientist was used to refined work like this, and with his exceptional microscoping abilities, had the best tools for the job as well.

"Hey, so… wassup with the tree, Prowl?"

Bumblebee had, for the most part, been silent during the surgery, seemingly distracted by whatever reflective surface the light hit within the room. He would act true to his word, now and then, popping out a completely random question, and Prowl would then talk to him about it. So far, they had covered many quirks of human life in general, and some points of natural phenomena.

Prowl hadn't realised just how deep in earth culture Bumblebee had engrossed himself. He struggled to make conversation on some points, like why the humans in magazines were always so thin when there were so many fat ones walking around. Or why flammable and inflammable meant the same thing. Or why some places had exceptional technology and others still wore barely any clothes and lived in a tribal manner.

Now and then, the sub-compact had yelped or whined, squirming away from whatever was being done to his shoulder, but the high-grade made the spikes in pain much duller and he would calm down and forget about it again in astroseconds.

This new question made Prowl frown slightly, but seeing that the surgery was at a crucial stage, he decided keeping Bumblebee distracted was essential.

"Um… you mean, why do I like it, or how is it?"

The sub-compact looked thoughtful for a minute, grimacing.

"The sssecond one… I think… yea, and the firs' one."

The ninja bot's expression softened. If times were happier, he might have found the overcharged Bumblebee likeably amusing. He still did, but his feelings were muted by the circumstances.

"It's doing well. I like to see how it changes. Last year, it acquired a family of robins, and they came back. They're sitting on eggs now, and a little lower a pair of swallows have made a nest as well. Then there's the starlings that built a nest between a wall and one of the branches that rests against it. I'm going to have to turn my audios down while recharging in there again this year, the chicks are loud and insistent when they hatch."

"Ffffff you feed 'em when their parens r out huh?"

The scout's sudden teasing suspicion had Prowl surprised.

"Uh… well, I… don't want to interfere, but… I like to be sure they have the required nutrients to become healthy adults."

"hmmmmmm they're your peeeets, hnnn. If you're not careful, you'll be walkin 'round with lotsa baby birds nesting on your shoulders and poopin' al over your paint."

Ratchet actually chuckled softly at this statement, even as Prowl raised his orbital ridges.

"Kid's got a point Prowl, I could see that happening. Don't go adopting too much organic life, you know how attached some species get. Those birds will start thinking you're their mother."

This statement actually got a garbled, lazy giggle out of Bumblebee. The laugh sounded conflicted, like he wasn't sure how to do it, but none the less, a tiny, goofy smile flickered onto his faceplate.

"Mommy Prowl… sounds gud…"

The sliver of cheerfulness from the small bot was cut off abruptly with a yelp and low keens of pain.

Prowl leant over quickly and braced the small mech's left shoulder near the base of his neck column so he didn't cause himself damage by moving too much.

Perceptor frantically dropped his laser scalpel and picked up another odd tool. He had just finished completely un-attaching the shoulder joint from the scout's frame, but once free, a jagged, torn part of metal from the gimble had jammed against a main power line, still attached between the small mech's chassis and his limb. The wire was being severely pinched and clearly, the pain was enough to break through the overcharge haze.

"Stoooop, hurts, make it stooop."

"It's alright, Bee, stay still, he'll fix it, just stay still."

Ratchet spoke low and soothingly, helping Prowl to keep the sub-compact from moving his shoulder while Perceptor carefully cut away the metal causing the pain.

It was a whole agonising klik before he managed to relieve the pressure, rubbing carefully at the outer casing of the line to try and calm the sensors registering the pain and encourage nanite activity to fix the slight damage to the outer layer.

"I'm sorry, I didn't anticipate the movement of the joint that way once I separated it from the supports." Perceptor was genuinely apologetic.

Bumblebee however, didn't seem completely with them. His optics were dim and unfocussed, and he trembled under Prowl and Ratchet's servos.

"Please don'… don't hurt me… don't…"

The frightened, terrified little voice was worse than the soft keens of pain, and Prowl had to get Bumblebee to look straight into his optics, speaking slowly and reassuringly, before he snapped out of his mild glitch.

"Gotta be as careful as possible. That shoulder was so pointedly abused I'm guessing it's programmed into his meta to associate any serious pain there with trauma." Wheeljack said softly, helping Perceptor to start taking apart the useless old joint bit by bit.

Bumblebee didn't talk for a while after that, and Prowl didn't try to force him. He attempted to distract him now and then, but the distant look in the dim blue optics told him the scout wasn't really focussing on him.

"Why'r you doing this?"

The small question came as Perceptor and Wheeljack finished replacing every damaged line in the shoulder. They were just starting on assembling the new joint in place, but both paused minutely to shift their optics to the sub-compacts faceplate. He was looking distantly at the ceiling, and none of them were quite sure who he was addressing.

Still well within the stupor induced by overcharge, it was possible Bumblebee wasn't even sure who he was talking to.

"What do you mean? Who's doing what?" Prowl eventually asked softly.

The sub-compact frowned slightly. "This… fixin'…wass the point? Why'r you all tryin' t' fix me?"

The four other mechs shared a puzzled look.

"Because you deserve it." Wheeljack ventured, prompting a small shake (or more, roll) of the head from Bumblebee in negative, and a deeper frown.

"No I don't. Not useful. Not strong. Not smart."

"I don't know about that. From what I've seen of your performance at top condition, not even knowing you I'd say you're quick processored, fast, agile, and got tanks of tungsten steel." Wheeljack replied, trying to lighten the sub-compact's suddenly dark mood.

Ratchet and Perceptor shared a look. Overcharge induced melancholia was something they had foreseen, but hoped against. In vain it would seem, in Bumblebees case.

"Ffffff 'm not fast enough. Got caught din' I? M' not brave, jus' too stupid to know when to quit."

"Bumblebee, you know how Optimus is always talking about the team as a family?"

The sub-compact rolled his helm to look up at Prowl with slight confusion. "Yea?"

The black and gold mech absently ran his palm over Bumblebee's helm as he spoke sincerely, "He doesn't just say that to boost team morale you know. We are as close to a family unit as one can be without spark ties. We've been watching each others back-plates and helping each other with problems for so long now… don't you think we care more about you as a bot than as simply a mech we work with?"

Bumblebee looked away for a moment, biting slightly at his lower lip-plate, looking as though he wished what Prowl said was true. He looked back at the ninja, optics having trouble focussing from the overcharge. "I dunno how you could… m' annoying… lazy… not good at anything important. I thought you hated me. N' everyone else tolerat'd me at best. You don't have any reason to like me."

"That's not true, Bumblebee." Ratchet spoke up softly, and he sounded slightly… hurt.

The scout's optics went to Ratchet's where the medic was cleaning a joint bracket to prepare it for a weld.

"You Don't have to like how someone acts to care about them. Most importantly, we know your spark is in the right place."

"How could I hate a mech that has more than once literally taken a shot for us? ALL of us… I feel stupid for not thinking you would do it again this time. Most importantly, we don't hate you, Bumblebee… we never have. I didn't know you'd ever felt that way."

The sub-compact was silent again, seemingly mulling over what the ninja-bot had just clarified for him.

It wasn't until the repairs were nearing completion that he spoke again, and his tone was soft and tired. "M' sorry for bein' such a jerk. I'm not… good at… this stuff. Being in a family or anything."

Prowl just nodded and continued to stroke his helm soothingly. "It's alright. You're not doing a bad job though. Don't be too hard on yourself Bumblebee, you're a good mech. You shouldn't think anything otherwise."

The scout gave him the flicker of a doubtful look before his gaze shifted again, looking over dispassionately at the shiny new components that made up his left shoulder joint now.

"You can go ahead and test it now Bumblebee. Everything is reconnected and it should work no problem." Ratchet said kindly.

The small mech tentatively, sluggishly moved his left arm at the shoulder, keeping his elbow straight. The new joint felt stiff, but most importantly, it wasn't painful.

"Works. Doesn't hurt. 'A' plus." The scout said softly, giving them another awkward half grin.

Ratchet smiled with relief, and Wheeljack looked positively gleeful, while Perceptor, cleaning everything up ready to finish up by fixing new casing over the gimble, looked pleasantly satisfied.

"Well, I don't know what 'A'-plus means, but it sounds good." The engineer said, helm panels flashing a bright blue.

"Thankyou." Bumblebee muttered softly as Ratchet gently picked up his arm and began slowly rotating the new joint in various different positions to make sure the flexibility was all OK.

"Least we can do kid. Don't you worry, we'll get you back to your old self, bit by bit, quick as we can. We'll let you rest when we're done with this."

Later, when it had grown dark, Prowl lay on the berth beside a recharging Bumblebee, admiring Ratchet and the other's work. They had repaired the shoulder to pristine condition, although it did look odd against the worn, still marred parts of the scout that were awaiting their turn at repairs.

He traced a digit on the ring of metal that edged an armour attachment panel in the centre of the round shoulder joint casing. He didn't expect Bumblebee to be disturbed from his stasis, given he'd both been full of high grade and forced offline by one of Ratchet's codes that helped him suppress unwanted processor activity.

The sound that came from Bumblebee vocaliser therefore startled him.

"mmn… quiddit ess-five, gonna geddin trouble…"

The ninja paused in his movements, shuttering his optics once, watching the smaller mech's faceplates, but the sub-compact didn't stir.

He removed his servo and laid it on Bumblebee's own where it had been before, continuing to stare thoughtfully at the scout.

Who on Cybertron was S5? It sounded like a proto-designation.

Prowl remembered suddenly the scout saying he wasn't good at 'family' stuff. Frowning, the ninja-bot realised he really didn't know much at all about Bumblebee's past. It wasn't so odd, really, given they'd never been terribly close. Not to mention no one on the team really knew HIS past either.

But Prowl had had family before. A long time ago.

His spark bearers had offlined when he was quite young, leaving him bitter, jaded and alone… until of course, Yoketron had taken him under his wing vorns later.

So… what had been Bumblebee's story?

If he had known a mech with a proto-designation, that probably only meant one thing… and given the sub-compact's common frame type, the black and gold mech was surprised he'd never realised it before. He nearly smacked a servo to his own helm.

Bumblebee had to have been batch sparked.

Primus, they stopped doing that regularly a long time ago, when they started running low on stored allspark essence … he must have been one of the last batch sparkings.

Looking at Bumblebee from this perspective certainly explained some things. The competitiveness, the lack of skill specialisation, the need to prove himself and stand out.

It was probably why he was so attached to all his earth technology and gadgets as well… batch sparklings were taught and raised in council run centres. There were so many sparklings in a batch, they didn't have the luxury of much in the way of personal possessions. No one-on-one care. No parental units to guide each mech, it wasn't even like an orphanage, there was no adopting out. Just the basics in all essentials until the mechs were deemed ready to be sent out into the world. No placement, no guidance, just turned loose.

There had been so much difference of opinion for decavorns over batch sparking versus bonded pair sparking. Eventually, the debate over what was better communally and individually was settled by the loss of the Allspark. Once the energies (stored from it before it's casting into space) were used up creating new generations of bots, the bot-to-bot sparking method was the only one left.

Apparently though, Bumblebee had what Prowl considered the misfortune of being one of the last of them.

Oh, he'd read things about it in his own youth. Primus, he'd even been to one or two protests against it.

Having been raised by his progenitors, he didn't know how any mech could be properly socially adjusted growing up any other way.

And in a way, Bumblebee was proof. Attention seeking, making poor choices, acting juvenile… all probably a product of his initial vorn or two.

If Bumblebee had known a bot called S5, then his own Proto-designation would have started with an 'S'.

Prowl wondered, as he continued to look curiously over the scout's faceplate, whether he should ask the sub-compact about it. Would the memories be painful? Was it really too personal? Surely there couldn't be too much pain in it, if his CPU was reverting back to data-tracks from that time while it was blocked from the memory files of his recent trauma.

After all, asking was one thing, Bumblebee didn't have to actually tell him anything if he didn't want to, but it might make for a good distraction if the black and yellow bot needed it.

"So, can we see him Ratch? Is he feeling better? Is he awake?"

Bumblebee could hear their eager voices from beyond the door, where the medic was keeping his friends at bay.

Ratchet looked back into the room at him, and after a moment of slight hesitation, the scout nodded.

"Alright, but no throwing your arms around him, he's still got a lot of repairs to undergo, and we'll have to start them again soon, so visiting time is short today."

The red and white bot stepped back, opening up the door to let Sari, Bulkhead and Optimus in.

Bumblebee was lying propped up slightly on the angled head of the medical berth. He was still mostly covered in the micro-fibre sheet, which was currently tucked over his chest-plates and under his arms.

Optimus smiled immediately when he saw the scout's polished new shoulder joint, but the sub-compacts not-quite smile and dull optics reminded him just how far from well the small mech still was.

"How ya feelin' lil' buddy?" Bulkhead asked softly, going over to place a servo on the side of the berth. His friends dim optics flickered to his and away slightly as he gave a half shrug, moving only his good shoulder.

"Tired… sore… The usual." The quietness of the reply struck the large green wrecker's spark worse than he would have expected.

Maybe it was because he was used to Bumblebee being the loudest and most rambunctious mech he knew… maybe it was because he was still stripped to his protoform and looking extremely vulnerable, or it could have been the way he was avoiding his gaze awkwardly…

Bulkhead decided it was a mix of all three, but he didn't hold it against Bumblebee in the slightest. It just reminded him that this would take a lot of effort to fix.

Sari had already climbed up onto the edge of the berth, and was still trying to wrap her head around seeing him online without his armour. It was almost…creepy. But she had to keep reminding herself that under her organic exterior, it was probably similar to what she looked like as well. It was just that she was so used to seeing them all with their armour on, she'd never given much thought to the possibility that it came off, and what they looked like without it. However, it WAS still the same Bumblebee… at least, she hoped so.

She knew, beside all this, she was using the way he looked as a distraction from thinking about just how different he was personality wise.

Having already sampled some of what he was feeling inside first hand, she could understand why he was barely concealing his feelings at the moment. He exuded misery. He was obviously trying to suppress it, but that much pain couldn't just be shoved away like it wasn't there, and the torture he'd been through hadn't happened.

"Ratch did a really good job on your shoulder huh?"

It was the only thing the techno-organic could think to start a conversation about, given no bot else seemed able to find anything to vocalise.

"It was Perceptor and Wheeljack too." Bumblebee replied in that too quiet voice again, but at least he was engaging, however uncertainly. He looked at the joint again, moving it around a little, but wincing when he reflexively bent his elbow joint. He rested the arm again and seemed embarrassed for showing his pain.

" So, what are they like? They haven't really talked to us much yet." Optimus asked, also trying to re-engage the scout in conversation, hoping to distract him into a sense of normalcy.

"Ummm… nice. Wheeljack always seems pretty up-beat. I don't know about Perceptor, he's very… professional."

The sub-compact replied.

"Professional as in, doesn't really talk about personal stuff?" Bulkhead queried.

"Perceptor has been a reclusive mech for as long as I can remember. Wheeljack usually teases him about it, but he takes it with good humour. He's got a personality, you just have to weasel it out of him." Ratchet responded with a half smile, Bumblebee looking slightly amused by his explanation.

"I like them though." The scout admitted

"So, you getting bored with the med-bay yet?" Sari asked innocently, resisting the urge to reach out and even touch one of the covered pedes, afraid either of hurting Bumblebee accidentally or feeling again what she had the first time.

The sub-compact flickered his gaze to hers, looking uncertain and slightly lost again.

"Ummm… Not really bored… can't really do anything."

The halting answer made Optimus frown a little.

"Well, that's what we're here for, right? We can come and keep you company while the repair mechs are on their break." Bulkhead said lightly, trying to inject some more brightness into the mood.

"You don't have to stick around if you don't want to." Bumblebee replied, still looking sheepish and awkward."

"Why wouldn't we want to?" Sari asked, confused.

The scout only looked more helpless, seemingly trying to find the right words.

"I'm not… I can't… do anything. I'm only going to make you bored… I'm sorry, I just don't know what to say or… how to…" He halted his quiet, shaky litany, looking embarrassed again like he was imposing on them somehow.

Optimus moved forward and placed his servo gently on the repaired shoulder. The tensing of the joint at his touch was noticeable, but Bumblebee didn't try to move away from him. His gaze flickered uncertainly up to Optimus'.

"Bumblebee, it's OK. We just want to make sure you know we're here for you if you need us. We're going to help you through this. You've done enough for us, we just want to do something back for you."

The Prime had hoped his words would relax the sub-compact, make him feel a little more at ease again… He did not expect the scout to tremble and break down into soft clicks, off lining his optics and covering his faceplate in his servos.

"Bee? Hey it's OK, we're sorry, we didn't mean to upset you." Bulkhead moved a servo to hug his small friend, but had to stop himself, remembering it would only hurt the scout more than comfort him.

Bumblebee shook his helm slightly, still covering his faceplate and trembling with sobs, looking as though he wanted to curl away from them and hide.

"S'not you… m sorry, it's… not your fault… y'didn't do anything… I don't know how to… I just… I don't know anymore… I'm sorry…"

"You don't have anything to be sorry for Bumblebee." Sari tried to soothe. She cursed her inability to touch her friend… he needed a hug, and while Bulkhead couldn't for fear of hurting him, Sari's small human (well, relatively human) arms would be much more gentle… except the possibility of this new all-spark ability triggering again was too risky… she couldn't touch her best friend when he was most in need of comfort, simply because she might hurt him even worse than Bulkhead could, and the thought killed her inside.

She'd never even heard a cybertronian do anything remotely like human crying… but this, this was different… this was sorrow like she'd never seen before. Why did Bumblebee's clicking stab at her heart (or whatever it was Ratchet said she had in there) so badly?

The medic moved forward and put his servo on Bumblebee's other shoulder, his expression suggesting he expected the sub-compacts reaction.

"It's alright Bumblebee, this is normal. You're not going to know what to feel around anyone you know for a long time, but that's OK. We'll all be here for you, it'll go back to normal, even if it feels like it can't."

The small mech visibly tried to quiet himself, forcing his frame to stop trembling from the force of conflicting emotions reeling through him.

His visitors said their rather subdued farewells and wished the sub-compact a speedy recovery as Perceptor and Wheeljack arrived. Bumblebee, despite trying to put on a neutral expression, looked lost and helpless when he said goodbye. He was quickly distracted by Ratchet, who went through the procedures they would be attempting that day.

Prowl listened as well as he helped organise materials, directed by Wheeljack.

"We'll be trying to remove the dermal plating that's cracked and warped over your base protoform sensor grid. I'll be using several micro-pulses from my EMP to lower the receptiveness of the sensors as we come across them. It won't be a pain-free exercise, but it shouldn't be anything too intense, more uncomfortable. If you still don't feel like you can handle it at any stage, don't hesitate to tell us and we'll stop. It's likely that once we get the plating off, the sensors won't be ready for new plating straight away, so you'll have static-bandaging on while your nanites get a chance to fix the sensor grid. If you really feel you can't stand the sensation of the dermal plating removal, we'll work on something else for today and leave the plating for another session with high-grade. We can overcharge you to make it easier for more than one procedure, but not too many times, as I'm sure you know what High-grade does to processor circuitry when over-ingested."

Bumblebee nodded numbly, watching Perceptor apprehensively as he sorted out his tools and picked up a rather spindly, pokey looking one.

He didn't protest, but only stiffened slightly as the micro-fibre blanket was folded down off his chest to cover only his waist down.

The microscope mech leant over him, scrutinising the plating under his spark chamber panels and all the way down to his midriff. He had an optic magnifier mod like Ratchet, but his seemed even more complex. The close scrutiny made Bumblebee feel uncomfortable, but he tried to keep as still as possible.

Perceptor very carefully lowered his tool and slipped it into a crack in the metal. Bumblebee didn't feel anything until he began applying pressure to part of the plating in an attempt to lift it. It was moderately uncomfortable to a point, and the scout tolerated it until it got to a point where more than one sensor was being activated by the pressure. Bumblebee grit his dentas and didn't make a sound or sign that it was hurting him until the plating in the grasp of the scientists tool snapped.

The sub-compact yelped and cringed, trying to shield the area immediately with his servos as Perceptor apologised profusely.

"Oh Primus, I'm terribly sorry! I didn't expect the metal to be that brittle, I'm sorry…"

Bumblebee just gave him a 'what the frag DID you think would happen?' look.

Wheeljack came to the berth side and took the metal fragment from his mortified looking colleague and examined it himself, turning it over as his helm panels flashed a concerned orange.

He leant over Bumblebee with a sympathetic air and looked at him with what seemed to be reassurance. "Can I take a look? I just want to look, I'm not gonna poke or prod at it or anything, OK?"

Bumblebee, fighting every hard trained instinct in him that said un-shielding his plating would mean more pain, removed his servos to clench in fists at his sides.

Wheeljack bent down and squinted into the black, cracked plating. His helm panels shone a bright directional white beam into the tears, allowing the scientist to see deeper into the damage.

He hummed in what sounded like concern.

"There's a lot of grime and dirt build-up in there. Soot, burnt oil, grease and energon… I'm betting it's all through his frame, not like he could help it. He's gonna need a full wash before we can do anymore work I'd say. You'll probably feel better afterwards too, without all that muck in ya."

Bumblebee relaxed slightly when he pulled away, having been true to his word in not hurting him.

Ratchet was nodding at the suggestion and rubbing his chin with a slight frown.

"Probably not a bad idea… but the kid can't wash it out himself, and it's likely some of his sensors are gonna be set off by the running water. They'll adjust, but it's still not gonna be an easy exercise."

"I don't think anything involving me is going to be an easy exercise for a while Ratch." The scout muttered quietly, and the medic threw him a soft apologetic flicker of a grin.

"I can help you if you want. If you don't mind that is, Bumblebee." Prowl spoke up quietly, coming over to join them.

Given the ninja-bot had already seen the worst of him, Bumblebee didn't think anything of Prowl volunteering to help clean him up. He nodded and vented softly, moving to sit up and swing his legs off the berth.

Of course, movement reminded him just how bad his damages were, and the motion of moving to get off the berth turned into one giant flinch and gasp. The sub-compact grit his denta again, moving a little slower.

Prowl went to help, slipping an arm under Bumblebee's shoulders to support him, despite the scout muttering something about being able to stand on his own.

As it turned out, he couldn't do any such thing. When he tried, his knee joints gave out, and one hip made an awful grinding sound.

He kept the micro-fibre cloth wrapped around his lower half even as Prowl wordlessly scooped him up and headed for the wash racks attached to the med-bay.

Bumblebee's faceplates burnt with shame. He hated being so weak… hated being a burden, being helpless, being so exposed that the only thing between his abused interface circuitry and the rest of the world was a thin temperature regulating blanket.

"No one expects anything of you Bumblebee. You don't need to feel bad about us helping you, we want to. We need to." Prowl murmured quietly as he set the small mech down gently on a bench beneath the spray head. Apparently it hadn't been hard to read his emotions on his faceplate.

"I know, I just… hate this. I wish it could just be normal. I've never liked imposing for anything… I just do stuff for myself usually."

Prowl nodded understandingly as he moved around getting cleaning implements and solvent.

"I can understand that. I'm very much the same. But for now… relax, and let us take care of you. You can't do anything to immediately repair your situation, and we don't at all mind helping with anything the least bit mundane."

The black and gold mech came over and started setting out the things he'd gathered.

It was then Bumblebee realised Prowl hadn't just helped him to the shower, he was going to clean him… and he doubted he had much say in the matter.

The sub-compact couldn't meet the ninja-bots optics. For some reason, he was almost embarrassed, knowing he'd have to expose his abused intimate circuitry to Prowl, despite the effort the mech had made to give him privacy even as Ratchet worked on him.

Prowl didn't seem fazed when he asked him gently if it was alright for him to remove the micro-fibre sheet wrapped around his lower half.

Bumblebee shrugged, still not looking at the bot as he let him lift him under the shoulders slightly to slide it out from under him and remove it.

Why did he feel so ashamed? So embarrassed? He knew Prowl wouldn't judge him. Frag, he'd already seen his spark for Primus' sake! Why was he so anxious about him seeing his ruined interface circuitry?

He tried to suppress his anxiety as Prowl moved to turn on the water.

The trickle from the oversized spigot started out cold and weak, but as the hot water was added, it turned into a larger, stronger spray.

Bumblebee flinched and hissed as his sensors took badly to even the slight friction of the water. Prowl knelt down in the spray before him with an apologetic look, but as the heat began to seep into the sub-compacts damaged frame it calmed the raw sensors so that the pinging pains dulled to an overall tingle of discomfort.

Prowl gave him a small half smile of reassurance before he loaded up a soft sponge with solvent. He squeezed it out over the sub-compact's head so that the solvent would run down into the cracks and joints where the grime had built up.

Bumblebee didn't move except to sway in place slightly, still weak and tired quite a lot of the time. His optics dimmed slightly as the black and gold mech repeated sponging the solvent over his head, the feel of water pattering and running down his body starting to soothe rather than sting or irritate. The heat was permeating like nothing else yet had, driving away the deep bitter cold that seemed to have set in from his cell and not left.

Once Prowl seemed satisfied that they was enough cleaning solution over him, he wiped the sponge down Bumblebee's body in gentle strokes, dipping it into areas where grime was beginning to wash out. The scout squirmed a little when the ninja poked the sponge into sensitive tears and gashes, but for the most part it was more unnerving and uncomfortable than truly painful, thanks to how gentle Prowl was.

He almost started to enjoy the steady circular strokes when the black and gold mech began cleaning his chest plates, leaning him forward to rest on his shoulder as he reached the sub-compact's back.

The feeling of water spraying down on the back of his neck sent tingles down Bumblebee's spinal strut… and it took him a moment to register the sensation.

Pleasure…

It felt… good. Really good.

He nearly scoffed at himself. It wasn't like he didn't already know what a hot spray of water on his neck and shoulders felt like, but… he'd never experienced it in such sharp contrast before. Normally it was a benignly pleasant sensation. Mind, it was normally dulled through his armour too…

Right now it felt downright sinfully good.

Forgetting himself, Bumblebee moaned softly and shuddered, pressing his faceplate into Prowl's shoulder to expose more of his neck to the delicious hot water.

Prowl's movements faltered.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

The concern in his voice made the scout feel ashamed of himself again.

"N-no… just… water's good."

"Oh, good. I was hoping I hadn't made it too hot."

Bumblebee bit his glossa and suppressed more shivers as the ninja-bot leaned him further forward to get to his lower back, the water on a wider area of his plating feeling like so many soft caresses.

Prowl cleaned on, oblivious of the sensations the sub-compact was drinking in greedily from the water.

When he was done cleaning the smaller mech's back plates he helped Bumblebee lie down.

He didn't catch the deeper colour of the dim optics as he rolled the scout onto his side and began sponging extra solvent into the reticulated parts of his plating.

The sting of water sliding through the raw sensor damage in his cracked dermal plating only threw the feel of the pattering spray into sharp relief. Bumblebee hissed and curled into himself slightly, unable to hold back the shudders, or sort through the mixed feelings of pleasure and pain.

He couldn't seem to process past the point of just wanting to feel good, wanting the water to hit his undamaged arrays so he could drown out the pain. Prowl murmured more apologies, thinking he was causing Bumblebee more pain as he worked the solvent into the black plating, a lot of dirt and grime washing out into the drain beneath his pedes.

Bumblebee cringed away, ventilations uneven as the signals in his body warred with one another, each shiver of pleasure from the water sprinkling against his side made more intense in contrast with the sting of his damaged midriff being cleaned.

He realised as Prowl moved the sponge to his hip to soak solvent into the joints that his array sensitivity threshold had lowered without him noticing.

The pleasure once again overtook the pain and steadily made clear processing harder and harder. His ventilations had increased, and his plating was growing hot under the already steaming spray.

All that mattered to him was the exquisite feeling the water gave him.

Prowl frowned, noticing what seemed to him to be distress.

He moved to lift Bumblebee's torso, sitting him up and propping him with his knee.

His optics were offline, but as the spray hit his chest plates, he gasped and they onlined a deep blue.

The sudden shift of sensation from his side to directly over his spark chamber pushed Bumblebee over the edge. The reverberation of thousands of tiny droplets of water across the replacement glass and golden panels was magnified threefold, the feeling overwhelming his sensor-net.

Pleasure exploded across his circuits in a charge release he hadn't realised had been building.

He arched weakly in Prowl's arms, quivering and letting out a low keen.

Prowl gaped, slightly confused, as Bumblebee slackened in his arms, ventilations panting.

The sudden realisation of what had just happened hit him as he noticed the darkened optic colour and hot plating.

Bumblebee had just overloaded.

The scout's optics slowly focussed, and he looked, shell-shocked, into Prowl's faceplate, the two of them both too stunned to do anything.

Then realisation seemed to slam into the sub-compact and he shuddered, covering his faceplate with his servos and giving out a mortified whine.

"Oh primus… why did I… what is WRONG with me…"

His voice was shaky and thin and he cringed away from Prowl, who was still too surprised to know what to do.

On instinct, he hugged Bumblebee closer and frowned in concern.

Ratchet … I need you in here, alone. Something just happened and I'm not sure if it was… normal.

The medic pinged an affirmative, and within three astroseconds he had slipped into the wash racks, frowning in confusion at what he found.

"What happened?" He asked quietly as he knelt beside them, doing a quick scan on the curled up, softly sobbing scout who was shaking his helm. He immediately registered the elevated ventilation rate and above average core temperature… his spark reading was also the strongest it had been in the last orn or so.

Prowl gave him a pained look, as if unsure exactly how to explain.

"He… overloaded, I think. He didn't say anything, wasn't making any sound, he just said that the water felt good…"

Ratchet was hearing that lost tone in the ninja-bots voice far too often for his liking recently. He nodded in understanding, his own confusion replaced with a sombre, slightly pitying expression as he sighed.

"Ah… it's nothing to worry about. This is another side effect that isn't uncommon in mechs who've suffered excessive abuse. Don't feel ashamed Bumblebee… your body is just trying to heal itself. After all the pain you've been suffering, your sensors have become three times more receptive to positive stimulation, trying to seek it out anywhere it can get it."

Bumblebee's shuddering seemed to lessen, and even though he made an effort to quell his clicking, he couldn't stop it. Couldn't stop the burning shame in his core or the sick churning in his tanks.

"But… it can't be right, I mean I wasn't… I'm not… after everything they did how can I feel good? Am I just getting off on pain now? …Even when it stung it started to make it feel better… primus I'm sick, I have to be… I'm sorry Prowl…"

The black and gold bot shook his helm and wrapped his arms more firmly around the scout's torso, running his thumb in a circle over the repaired shoulder casing.

"Don't apologize Bumblebee. You have to stop blaming yourself for this. If Ratchet says it's normal given what you've been through, then you should trust him. Don't beat yourself up over feeling good. Any mech you ask would tell you they've induced a charge release to counter pain before, clearly you don't enjoy pain, I doubt it is what made you overload."

Somehow, the way Prowl just came out and talked about it like it wasn't even worth dancing around or embarrassing in the least, calmed the sub-compact. He still shook with suppressed sobs, still mortified that he'd somehow found another way to degrade and shame himself in the optics of his friends… but he was able to calm down enough to let Prowl finish cleaning him.

Ratchet tried to give him a reassuring look, "Anyway, it certainly isn't bad for your systems. The positive charge helps re-stabilise your spark, its just unfortunate it also burns a lot of energy, which you're already doing running self repairs, so it'll make you feel pretty sluggish."

The medic left them to it, saying he needed to continue helping Perceptor and Wheeljack.

Prowl helped Bumblebee sit up, but he couldn't find it in him to look the ninja-bot in the optics.

His socket, somewhere in the depth of his pelvic gimble, was aching from the charge release. The sensors in his spike had been cut dead by Ratchet, but not the ones in his port… they were too complex, and undisturbed, wouldn't bother him… but the deepest part, his socket, and the charge module that handled overload energies, was burning, and it wasn't very pleasant.

His faceplate burned when he looked down into the water streaming off his frame and noticed the feint trail of translucent purple lubricant that was leaking from his bare and ravaged valve.

Prowl gave no indication that he noticed it, merely cleaning the small mech's other side and then his legs.

Bumblebee's sensor net betrayed him as he sat shaking from the after effects of his overload. As much as he tried to ignore it, the water continued to tickle his now hyper-aware sensors. He could feel another charge coming on and couldn't help more clicks from escaping him.

Prowl gave him a sympathetic look and tried to finish his cleaning faster, still as gentle as ever.

By the time he was done however, the sub-compact was panting again and trembling even worse.

He caught Bumblebee's gaze for a moment, the once again deep blue optics averting with shame etched on every line of his faceplate.

Prowl sighed and moved to sit beside the scout, pulling him onto his lap and hugging him to his chest plate. Bumblebee made a feeble protest, but the black and gold mech hushed him and stroked his back-plates gently.

Bumblebee shuddered, the water spray spattering and trickling across his back-plating and igniting sensors that normally didn't register such sensations with such intensity.

He gasped and shuddered, the movement of Prowls digits softly running circles around his lower back only adding to his charge, and yet, it wasn't at all sexual…

And that was what confused him most. He thought pleasure like this would trigger more memory purges, more trauma glitches, thanks to Spittor.

But somehow this was different…

He felt safe… comfortable, in the warmth of the water, hearing the faint pulse of Prowl's spark within his chassis.

Another shiver ran down his spinal strut and he clicked, shaking his head weakly where it rested on Prowl's shoulder.

This was wrong, it was all wrong, he didn't feel good… physically maybe, his sensors were ready and desperate to feel pleasure, but his spark… his spark felt so wrong, still cold, still somewhere… else. Not ready… he wasn't ready for this, couldn't think straight, frag it all he was overloading in front of Prowl, as if baring his mutilated spark and clicking like a sparkling and purging waste and fuel tanks in front of him wasn't bad enough… wasn't humiliating enough…

"It's alright Bumblebee… don't think. Just relax, don't fight it. Whatever else you believe, you deserve to feel good. You do. Just let go."

The whispered words in his audio were repeated as those amazingly gentle digits ran circles across his plating.

Nothing sexual… just comfort… just water and warmth and Prowl…

"Prowl…"

The mech's name quivered out of Bumblebee's vocaliser, unsure, pleading, for what Bumblebee didn't know… he couldn't think straight again, and the water was pounding into his humming sensors. Prowl hugged him tighter and revved his engine.

Whether this was a protective gesture or he did it on purpose, Bumblebee didn't know. And within nano-kliks, he didn't care.

Overload crashed through him once more, and his digits clawed weakly into the ninja-bot's windshield as he quivered and keened softly once more.

When the wash of momentary ecstasy ebbed, leaving a worse ache in his pelvis than before, he went limp in Prowl's arms and groaned.

Prowl continued to hold him close to his chassis with one arm, the other reaching out to quickly turn off the water so his charge wouldn't start building again.

In the wake of the pleasure buzz, a general ache returned, emulating from his charge generator, his spark feeling over-warm, along with the rest of his plating. Prowl gently sat him on the bench again, propping him against the wall as he moved to grab a towel. The ones they had were just human beach towels, and more like big flannels to them, but they worked sufficiently enough.

Prowl carefully dried off Bumblebee's plating as the mech's vents buzzed away, cooling him down. He still looked ashamed of himself, but the intensity of emotion seemed drained from him by exhaustion. The two overloads certainly seemed to have burnt out most of his processed energy reserves.

When the black and gold bot wiped away the droplets of water on Bumblebee's chest plates, he hesitated momentarily, before placing a palm flat to the gold metal and glass.

Bumblebee's optics, now a pale light blue again, flickered to his enquiringly.

Prowl gave him the ghost of a reassuring smile.

"…Ratchet is right. It's a little stronger I think."

The scout wasn't quite sure what to make of that. He looked down at his chest plates and listened to his own systems.

When he concentrated on it… it did feel steadier. But it certainly wasn't anything like it used to be. It was slower, quieter. Not that he could blame it.

By some unknown instinct, he raised one of his own servos and put it shakily on the one Prowl had placed so carefully on him.

"Thankyou."

The word was quiet, unsure, and the sub-compact didn't meet his optics… but Prowl smiled. He couldn't help it. He wrapped his other arm around Bumblebee again and leant his jaw against the smaller mech's helm.

"You're welcome. I'm always here if you need me, Bumblebee. Just ask."

The scout couldn't think of any words to say that felt like an appropriately grateful response, so he simply hugged Prowl back with his free arm and tilted his forehead against the black and gold mech's neck.

When Prowl carried him back into the med-bay, the micro-fibre sheet once again covering his lower half, Wheeljack and Ratchet both gave him expressions he supposed were meant to try and reassure and cheer him up.

He could barely look them in the optic. He knew Ratchet would had to have explained to the two assisting mechs what had happened. If they had also worked on mechs who had suffered abuse, they had probably guessed for themselves, but the burning shame wasn't something he could help anyway.

At the very least, he was actually more grateful to Perceptor for not acting like he needed sympathy. The bot was even more efficient than Prowl, and there was some comfort to be taken from that.

Ratchet helped him intake a cube of medical grade energon to restore what the overloads had taken out of him, but the ache did not leave his pelvis.

When they began their work, Prowl stayed, still as a statue, sitting by the head of the medical berth. Bumblebee couldn't help but appreciate his presence, despite the fact they didn't speak, and there was nothing the ninja-bot could do to help the actual procedures. He seemed interested in watching, even though he didn't look like he found it fascinating like he did a show on organics and how they functioned.

Bumblebee refused to let himself look down at the work they were doing on him. He'd never been a terribly squeamish mech, but… he knew how the damage had been inflicted. He really didn't WANT to know what it had done to him beneath the dermal plating, which was removed piece by little ruined piece.

Ratchet's EMP did dull the sensations, but some parts where just too bad for it to be effective against the force they had to use to remove melted plating. Where the metal had melted properly in places, it had smothered sensor nodes, ruined circuit relays or had just wedged itself in gears and around tension cables.

The process was long and stressful, but Bumblebee forced himself to endure.

Much of the affected plating came away with relative ease and minimal discomfort.

As they progressed though, they worked around the worst parts, until they had no choice but to attempt to remove them.

Bumblebee tried to stay as still as he possibly could when Perceptor was forced to use a micro laser-scalpel on a blob of metal that had melted around and set against a main energon line. Wheeljack had voiced his astonishment that the line hadn't been melted open, but Ratchet had pointed out that the metal had cooled too fast to burn through it.

Nevertheless, when Perceptor finished cutting the metal away, energon began to flow out over Bumblebee's internals.

The most irksome thing to the sub-compact, was not the awareness that he was bleeding out for several astroseconds before they managed to patch the hole the metal had both burnt into the line and sealed itself… it was the numb detachment he felt from the whole miniature ordeal.

If, before the nightmare had happened, he had sprung a major energon leak, he would have felt sick with fear, and shaken even after it was patched.

Now though… it seemed so… insignificant.

Something that could critically endanger the spark of a mech as small as him within two kliks, and he felt nothing.

Was it because he trusted the bots working on him?

Was it because he still didn't feel like he minded if he offlined?

…No… it felt more like… it was easy. It was too easy. He wasn't afraid he'd die that way, because that would be too easy.

"You alright kid? Speak to me, come on… Primus I've never seen a mech online not react to a main line rupture…"

Bumblebee looked at Wheeljack and the pale green flash of his helm panels with something akin to mild surprise.

"M'fine. I've felt worse."

The engineer gave him a shocked, apologetic look and got to helping the others clear away the spilt energon.

Unfortunately, once Bumblebee's gaze had turned towards the repair mechs, he couldn't help them travelling down to his own midriff.

The sight was more disturbing than he'd anticipated. His bare internals were showing… transform cogs, tanks, lines, core frame struts, tension cables, motors and sensor grids, everything… and half of it was covered in energon.

Sure, when he'd seen car parts or pictures of cybertronian systems or wounds in his own plating, he hadn't been all that fazed. It was all somehow… detached from him. Just parts, just metal, just fixable damage.

But when it was the very core of him… and he realised how close his internals had been to those heel thrusters… and it was HIM, HIS body, HIS internals, the things keeping him functional…

Oh primus, he could even see the internal heat damage from here…

Bumblebee forced his helm back to avert his gaze, off lining his optics anyway, a servo flying to his mouth to stop himself from purging.

He didn't online his optics when he felt the servo on his shoulder, he knew it was Prowl. He tried hard not to think about it. Tried to distance himself but…

But…

That was HIM… how was he even alive? The scorched, mangled remains of a sensor net, the melted slag that had once been his proto derma-plating, the warped struts and crushed gears… holy slag how was he not offline?

It was no wonder Ratchet and the other pseudo medics seemed so overwhelmed every time they worked on him. He was a write-off.

A gentle servo began stroking his helm, but the calming effect was not immediate.

"Slag…" He breathed out shakily when he finally felt his tank was settled enough to pull his servo away from his mouth.

"Pretty much." Wheeljack said quietly, and Bumblebee couldn't help but agree with the irony.

"Don't look, and don't think about it Bee. It's bad, but looks worse than it actually is. Dented and warped metal doesn't stop all components functioning properly, just mostly motion and sensor related ones." Ratchet explained calmly, placing a palm gently on the small mechs forehead to discourage him from looking down again and to make sure his processor wasn't over-heating from stress either.

The three repair mechs continued working, and Bumblebee's meta was now occupied with dealing with the increasing stabs of discomfort and pain.

He screwed up his faceplate as they worked to remove metal that had melted around a set of highly sensitive nodes just below his spark cover panels.

He grit his denta hard and fought to remain still as Ratchet twiddled the metal to try and free it.

The EMP had been used to lower the sensitivity of the localised array, but with the amount of pressure and friction the medic had to exert to try and remove the slagged plating, it still hurt.

"Nope, needs the bandaid approach. Brace yourself Bumblebee."

The scout gave a short, terse nod, servos clamping into fists.

"Bandaid approach?" Wheeljack muttered.

"Mhmm. Earth term. Perceptor, get that laser scalpel ready again, if this doesn't come off clean, we may need to cut and seal that node and replace it later. Better than drawing this out."

Ratchet grasped the metal scrap firmly, the microscope mech poising his tool, seeming to understand what the red and white mech was intending to do.

"Alright Bee, three, two, one!"

The sub-compact gave a sharp cry and shuddered, trying to curl in on himself and the intense stab of pain. The blob of ruined dermal plating had indeed come off, but it had taken half the sensor node with it, and Wheeljack hurried to hold his mid section steady as Perceptor took to the damage with his scalpel, severing away the scrapped node and sealing the cyber-neuro network around it so no more pain was received from the gap in his array.

Bumblebee tried to relax and stop grinding slagged cogs and crimped cables within his own chassis, but at the same time he was dealing with the threat of trauma glitches looming on the edge of his meta, and he whined from the stress of the situation.

The soothing touches from Prowl and Ratchet's calm, tired voice brought him back to reality and he let out a shuddering ventilation.

"We can stop if you don't feel up to dealing with the rest of the nodes in that condition Bumblebee."

The scout grimaced and flickered an unsure look at the medic before focussing on the ceiling again. The flash of something caught his optics and he flickered his gaze to Prowl's visor.

The expression Prowl gave him was completely non-judgemental, neither encouraging nor discouraging, and it made the sub-compact wonder what the ninja-bot might do in the same position.

His mind automatically jumped to the conclusion that Prowl would see it through to get it over and done with, and merely exercise his considerable self control.

So… that was what he would do. There really was no point delaying the work when he'd suffer the pain either way.

You've had worse, he just had to keep telling himself. You've had so much worse, this is nothing… mech the frag up and deal.

He shook his helm and forced his body to stop trembling as much as possible.

They continued their work, and as they were forced to ease metal away from more severely damaged nodes, he internally beat his own processor into submission. It was hard, even though he knew he'd suffered much worse, to not yelp or whine when his sensors were agitated again and again. He knew it stressed the mechs working on him as they did their best not to hurt him, and that made him try even harder to control himself.

Prowl frowned, placing a servo on the small mechs helm and gently rubbing circles with his thumb. Bumblebee barely seemed to notice the touch. And the plating beneath his servo was too warm. They were so close to finishing however, that he daren't stop the repair mechs to give the scout a break. If Bumblebee needed them to stop he would say so… wouldn't he?

He could see the fight Bumblebee was putting up against his own body and meta. He wished desperately that he could help, but other than just being there, he couldn't fight the scout's demons for him.

His own processor strayed… back to the expression on Bumblebee's faceplate only a cycle or two ago in the wash racks.

It had been such a tiny moment. One nanosecond, but the weight of pain had lifted from Bumblebee, and in it's place only sweet relief… bliss… pleasure.

It wasn't that it was arousing. But Prowl couldn't help but see the beauty… the perfect escape Bumblebee had been given, however unintentionally, by his own body.

It was unfortunate that given what he'd suffered it tortured the poor mech's spark to overload the way he had.

And yet… even knowing how it confused and distressed the scout, all the black and gold mech wanted to do was help him feel it again. Feel pleasure, and not pain. See that one tiny moment of lightness and release on the battered silver faceplate.

He could see… could hope, and believe, in that one tiny moment, that there was still a chance their Bumblebee would come back.

For now he gave the only comfort he could, stroking the sub-compacts helm as the medics neared the end of their task.

When all the damaged plating had been painstakingly removed from his mid-section, Bumblebee let out a hard ventilation and shut off his optics, trying to relax. His frame trembled with the expectation of more pain, but he was too tired to try and make it stop.

He couldn't shake that feeling that any moment another painful blow would be delivered to his plating… that was so ingrained now it was barely worth trying to convince himself it wasn't so. All the same, his cables couldn't just ease up despite his exhaustion, and he found himself tensing within the core of his frame the way he hadn't stopped doing since they'd rescued him.

"Alright… you can relax now Bumblebee, doing all the internal replacement stuff is standard procedure, won't hurt a bit, and shouldn't take long." Ratchet tried to reassure him.

Bumblebee just gave a faint nod and tried to calm his ventilations.

The medic had been right though, and the sub-compact felt no discomfort from their work as they opened the latticework on which the damaged sensor net was threaded and began. They changed out cogs, lines, cables and all manner of slagged components, replacing them and fixing those that had only cosmetic or minimal damage.

Bumblebee found it surprising that the more they did, the slightly less… disgusting, he felt.

They were taking out parts of him that had been tainted, soiled by Decepticon energy. He repressed a shudder to think that they could not possibly get rid of all of it though… no amount of cleaning or replacement parts could fix what they had done to his spark, or erase the trace of them from his entire systems. That shadow would live inside him forever, etched into his core.

He offlined his optics and closed down that train of thought. He couldn't… couldn't face that now. Couldn't break down now. They needed to work, and he'd had his moment to be weak. There was no place for it now.

Mech up and deal … can't change it now, no point making it every bot else's problem. Anyway… you're not there anymore. You're home, and your friends are safe, and that's what you wanted. They're trying to help you, don't make it harder.

Having not really paid attention to the three mechs working in his midriff, Bumblebee was surprised after a while when Wheeljack declared they were done.

"That didn't take long." Prowl stated softly, clearly as surprised as Bumblebee, who couldn't help but online his optics and look down at himself.

It wasn't anything as bad as it had been before they started. New, clean parts, fresh welds and soldering, new tension cables, wiring and energon lines. All cogs aligned and in place and hydraulics refreshed. The scout couldn't quite believe that something that had taken all that force to damage had been repaired so easily.

Ratchet seemed to pick up on his dubious expression and gave him a soft smile. "Like I said, routine stuff… and the damage really wasn't as bad as it looked, relatively speaking. You sub-compacts really ARE quite a lot tougher than you're given credit for."

Wheeljack's helm panels flashed and he looked slightly nervous as he turned his gaze to Bumblebee's.

"You're going to have to use that toughness again Bee… to code the protoform alloy we're… going to need some spark trace so that it integrates to your frame properly. You're going to have to… open your chest plating for us."

A shiver went down Bumblebee's spine and he frowned worriedly. "o…ok…"

"We can take a break if you need one Bee…" Ratchet started, but the sub-compact shook his helm, brow platting knitting together as he took a deep ventilation (which he noticed sounded much clearer now they had replaced his damaged vents and fans).

"No point… I wanna get it… over with, if we have to do it."

Wheeljack and Ratchet shared a glance before Ratchet moved off to help Perceptor, who was laying out the pieces of alloy on a bench, ready to recode it.

The white and green mech moved around to the side of the berth opposite the monitors, bringing with him a tool that didn't look too horrible at least. He gave Bumblebee a kind look.

"Ok kid… you trust me, don't you?"

The scout gave him an odd look, considering the implications of the question before nodding softly. Prowl squeezed his right shoulder gently in reassurance.

Wheeljack's helm panels swirled a calming blue as he lifted his tool to show the sub-compact.

"OK, good. You don't need to worry at all, I've done this plenty of times before, It's quite easy and doesn't hurt a bit, so just lie still for me. I'm going to be collecting some coding energy from your spark aura with this little device. It's like a magnetic spatula with a syringe kinda compartment that stores the gathered energy traces to infuse in the new metal that's going to replace what was damaged and lost. You may feel a pulling on your spark, but it's not at all dangerous. Ready to open up?"

Bumblebee had to admit, Wheeljack did have a knack for calming him down, even though he wasn't sure why. He supposed it was his open nature… he reminded him of Bulkhead, but… smarter. Not that Bulkhead wasn't smart. Just not… medic kinda smart. Drawing in a deep ventilation and trying not to feel ashamed, knowing he was showing yet another mech how tainted he was, he let his chest plates part, bathing a soft blue light on the other mech.

He looked away, not wanting to see Wheeljack's reaction.

The scientist had to stifle a moan of pity at the sight. A dark blue gash marred the otherwise bright blue orb that pulsed weakly in the small mech's chassis. The scout suddenly seemed so much more vulnerable, and Wheeljack found himself venting deeply just as Bumblebee had before beginning his work.

He pushed away the anger he felt immediately… he knew what kind of pain the small bot would have suffered as the gashes apparent around his casing were made. What mechanism was sick enough to want to do that to the mech? Bumblebee wasn't a horrible bot, if the support of his team mates was anything to go by. From what he'd read of his file, he may have been rambunctious… over playful and exuberant at worst, but certainly not hateable enough to defile in such a cruel way, even Cons tended to have limits of sadism. Certain things they just didn't DO because it was so vile it made any mech's tanks churn.

"I can fix these damages for you, if you feel comfortable leaving your chest plates open long enough. I won't do it 'til after I have the sample though, so don't feel pressured, I can do it later if you like." Wheeljack explained, lowering his tool carefully but surely into the shu casing that held the spark.

Bumblebee made a non-committal noise, and Wheeljack smiled softly beneath his mask. "We'll do it later then, no worries."

Bumblebee forced himself to relax, finding the only way to stave off memory purge was to look at Wheeljack as he worked. He had to be sure the sensations in his spark wasn't the return of Shockwave's claws. It was the only way he could keep himself still to let the scientist work. And he DID trust Wheeljack. He hadn't done anything so far that made Bumblebee feel like he couldn't.

When he felt the gentle tug on his spark, he tensed and gasped softly, trying not to tremble.

It 's OK, it's not going to hurt, he said it wouldn't hurt… relax, don't move, or you might make something go wrong… how long did he say this was going to take?

"It's OK, it's working perfectly… nothing wrong, it'll only take a klik or two… your spark aura is a little weak, but it's fine, this won't damage it at all."

Wheeljack soothed the mech by rubbing a low sensitivity node at the base of Bumblebee's neck, and the sub-compact found himself relaxing despite his anxiety.

Moving the tool around the spark to make the pull less uncomfortable, Wheeljack looked up at the black thing looming in his peripheral vision. His servos didn't need him looking at what he was doing to do it safely, and he found himself looking kindly upon Prowl, who seemed as if he were absorbing all of the sub-compacts extra worry for him. He was half sitting on the berth, hovering over the scout like a guard hound.

"So… you two must be pretty good friends huh?"

Bumblebee seemed caught off guard by the question as much as Prowl did, and they both looked between the scientist and each other unsurely.

"I… um…" Bumblebee flushed slightly and looked down at his chest plates, seemingly a little embarrassed, which confused the white and green mech.

"When Optimus explains that our team is a family… he is giving a much more… accurate description of our dynamic than most realise." Prowl started slowly, trying to find the right words to explain.

Wheeljack canted his helm, sparing a look down at his tool to gauge how much aura he had collected before turning his attention back to Prowl.

"If you know what the relation is like between an older mech and his younger spark-sibling… then you have an idea of what our relationship is like."

Wheeljack's helm panels flashed in sudden understanding. "Oooooh! I see. Like spark siblings. Well that makes a lot of sense. I guess the term 'brothers in arms' really does apply for mechs fighting together in tight-knit groups."

Prowl nodded and Bumblebee looked a little less awkward.

Wheeljack's helm panels flashed a light yellow-green. "Soooo, if you guys are the brothers, and Bulkhead would probably be your other brother… I guess that makes Optimus Prime the sparker figure, leaving Ratchet as the carrier-hen-"

"I can HEAR you ya know." Came the grousing voice of the red and white medic, and Wheeljack fought down a chuckle, Prowl smiling and glancing down at Bumblebee. The bot seemed to have that same awkward expression, somewhere between finding it funny and not knowing how to express it through his pain.

Prowl's optics darted to the spark chamber again, expression sobering to see that dark scar standing out like a crack in glass.

Only he and Ratchet knew just how much stronger Bumblebee's spark looked now, though, compared to the first time they had seen it, maimed as it was and nearly transparent.

Prowl had to quell his mad urge to reach out and caress that softly pulsing orb, to soothe the deepest, darkest pain the mech was suffering, but he knew it wasn't his place.

He also knew what happened when one touched another's spark with their servos.

Memory transfer.

It made him fiercely angry to know Shockwave had forced Bumblebee to relieve memories to him… the scouts unwillingness, of course, had caused the scarring, because a bot had to consent to letting another see into their core or risk serious damage or scarring, such as what Bumblebee now had.

And Prowl had to admit, the thought of seeing, from Bumblebee's own meta, the memories of what had been done to him… it terrified him. On one servo, he wanted to know so he could help the mech overcome his grief and internal turmoil, to help him relieve the burden…

But on the other servo… he wasn't so sure he wouldn't just make things worse, making him dredge up the memories, making him relive the horror. He wasn't even sure he would be able to cope any better than Bumblebee. He may just break down and cling helplessly to the small mech.

And he felt ashamed that he didn't even trust himself to be strong enough to give Bumblebee support enough to help him through what he'd suffered that way.

Not even his ninja training, which he had fallen back on in every bad situation he'd encountered, made him feel any more adept in the face of Bumblebee's trauma.

"OK, not much longer now, another klik and you'll be done." Wheeljack said reassuringly as Bumblebee concentrated on keeping still.

It was so hard to keep the memories at bay, especially when he could feel that tug on his spark, constantly reminding him of what happened the last time his spark registered physical sensation and contact.

He was focussing so hard on keeping the memories at bay, he didn't recognise that it wasn't just in his meta, the feeling that the memories were pressing harder and harder, wanting to emerge and swallow him… but that it was an actual physical sensation.

He couldn't stop it… the pressure, drawn from the pull around his spark aura, surged as pain, and he gasped, shuddering, suppressing it and feeling his panic surge.

Shockwave pressing the tip of his claw to the surface …

"Nooo…"

Wheeljack's helm fins flashed in alarm, and he made to remove the aura collector. But it was as the servo with the tool moved away and his other hovered over the open chamber to get to the panel closing override above the shu casing that Bumblebee gasped again, spark flaring and shuddering as it crackled a burst of negative energy, starting another purge cycle.

It all happened so fast, none of them were quite aware of what transpired… but when the surge passed through the minibot, he arched high, and Wheeljack was unable to move his servo away quickly enough.

The two went rigid, both of their optics surging white at the contact…

Bumblebee felt as if he'd been doused and locked in ice. The only point of warmth was white hot and nearly unbearable. His systems had stalled in shock at the contact, frantically running base protocols to scan the EM field of the mech in contact… in intimate contact… before his spark took over and recognised the Autobot energy signature… it probed the mech, realising he wasn't a decepticon and had no malevolent energy…

And then the memories, which had been at the fore, resting every moment just under the surface, threatening and like a huge weight upon him, surged through the link.

Bumblebee's spark had decided it was going to cry out to the other bot and offload all the trauma to the first non-hostile spark it was coming across.

Bumblebee wasn't even a conscious participator in the act. He had barely realised that if he didn't want more scarring on his spark, he would have to let the memories flow… but beyond that, the recollections swallowed him whole and he didn't know where he was or what was happening anymore, horrors of his capture flying past so quickly and blending together… all he could do was suffer the shock.

Wheeljack shook terribly, but his servo was steady… his own systems recognising the contact with the spark, everything numb but for that warm little point of contact where his EM frequency had automatically latched onto the other's spark.

There was a hundredth of a nano-klik where he felt the other's confusion… system compliances… acceptance from the spark… and then suddenly he was barraged with everything that had been just beneath the barely controlled surface.

Wheeljack felt suddenly as if some kind of fire was travelling through his lines, optics widening and processor reeling in horror at the images and memories playing out across his meta. And he could feel him… feel Bumblebee, feel the other mech's own distress, as it was shared so suddenly with only the consent of his bleeding spark.

He felt the echoes, too, of how Bumblebee had felt in each circumstance, through each memory, each torture, each… Oh primus… ooooh primus, oh primus, not that, not…

Wheeljack keened in abject horror as the violations reeled past his consciousness, one blending into another, terrifying, abhorrent, unimaginable… and through it all was one long inner scream that contained all of the little mech's pain and suffering, but it wasn't out loud, it was just his spark, and the feeling of every one of the Decepticons overloads.

Just when Wheeljack thought it would never end, wondering how in the name of the Allspark something so unprimusly wrong could be survived, time seemed to slow, and it all came to one memory, one image, one moment frozen in time and imprinted on the core beneath his servo…

Wheeljack stared in horror, watching from Bumblebee's own perspective, the image of Shockwave loom above him. The engineer could feel from the memory, the terrible pain the scout had been suffering, the stabbing, howling pain of his body, impaled by the monster, that claw resting over his spark right before…

Wheeljack screamed, the clearest pain memory flooding his systems, showing him only the echo of what it felt like to have a Decepticon of such cold cruelty flood his core and pierce a line across his very spark with his bare claw.

The engineer regained his own body… his own processor, a few astroseconds later, the blackness and pain echoes fading, but his servo clawed at his chassis, pressing the metal directly over his spark chamber as his ventilations whirred too hard.

Perceptor was at his side, grasping his shoulder and shaking him slightly, calling his name and trying to snap him out of his daze.

But Wheeljack's optics remained fixed on Bumblebee.

What had he done?

The scout was crying out, both in agony as his spark began another purge, and at the memories that had rushed back to the surface, filling his processor and sending him reeling into memory glitches.

Prowl and Ratchet were working franticly to try and calm him. His chest plates had been closed, but he was writhing with missing dermal plating, likely to hurt his bare internals if something wasn't done.

Perceptor abandoned the dazed Wheeljack to assist Ratchet in holding Bumblebee still long enough to get a large static bandage quickly wrapped around his midriff.

Once that was done, they allowed Prowl to work his magic, letting the black and gold ninja pull Bumblebee into a tight embrace, rocking him and stroking his helm as he writhed and sobbed, keening when another wave of negative energy poured from his spark.

Wheeljack felt like sobbing with him.

The memories kept flickering through the forefront of his meta and he hunched forward, pressing the heels of his palms to his fore helm, unable to stop shaking, whimpering as the image of Shockwave and the echo of that feeling… that spark-splitting agony… shivered through his frame again.

Suddenly, servos were dragging him up… Ratchet had a firm grip on his upper arm, and he staggered as he was pulled out of the med-bay through a door that led to the medic's quarters.

He was steered into a chair, and Ratchet stood before him, looking as though he was having a hard time keeping a check of his temper.

"What the SLAG was that, Wheeljack?"

The green and white mech's helm panels flashed a distressed orange and he gave a soft keen.

"An accident… I didn't go to touch his spark, I was gonna close him before the purge got worse, but he arched up and I didn't even know… servo was in the way, I SWEAR I didn't mean to, and then his spark just…"

The engineer trailed off into static before a soft whine left him and he looked up desperately into Ratchet's now much less wrathful faceplate.

"It was horrible… I never… He… Ratchet I don't know how he hasn't offlined himself yet, I… couldn't live with that… all that… I couldn't… it all came at me, he didn't mean to, I don't think he wanted to, but his spark was already purging the energy, and because I was just there, it did the memories too, ALL of them, right up to… Primus almighty, Shockwave did that… he… how could he and not kill him… how could he?"

Wheeljack hadn't meant to start sounding hysterical, but the raw fear the memory garnered… not just his own, but Bumblebee's… left him unable to process beyond the power of the emotions.

Ratchet put a servo on Wheeljack's shoulder and gave a long slow ex-vent.

"He meant to, but in the cruellest possible way. I don't go a joor without wondering if we shouldn't have just let him go, though… it's our fault he's in this state now. He wanted to go, and I wouldn't let him… couldn't do it, not on purpose. You might just have become even more instrumental in his healing process than I think you meant to be, though."

Wheeljack shook his helm, gaze resting now, unfocussed, on the wall beyond the red and white mech.

"So much pain Ratchet… I don't… I don't know how to fix what they broke in him."

Ratchet squeezed the other mech's shoulder as Bumblebee cried out in agony again from his purge.

"We just have to do what we can. The best that we can. Once the physical pain stops, we can work better on the rest, and so can he."

The medic said the soft words as much to convince himself as the engineer.

Wheeljack looked up at him desperately again. "They took him more times than I thought… Ratch I've seen these cases before, but never a mech online after all that. I don't have a clue how many more purges he'll be suffering… best guess in anywhere up to… ten or more. More than any mech in the records. I don't know how he'll cope… IF he'll cope. They took all the light out of him… I could feel it, he didn't know how to cope… didn't want to."

"We just have to try and give him a reason." The medic said softly, gazing back at the door, squeezing Wheeljack's shoulder armour. "And our best bet for that is already in there doing all he can".

Chapter Text

Prowl held onto Bumblebee long after the purge was over, after they had re-attached an energon feed and put him into forced stasis.

Ratchet and the others had left the bay. Wheeljack, after assisting with the end of the purge, had tried to apologise… to do something to show how sorry he was, but Prowl hadn't been feeling very forgiving, and Bumblebee had been exhausted enough to need the forced stasis.

The black and gold mech didn't know if perhaps he was over-reacting, but he had been so angry at the engineer. From what Ratchet told him, it had been an accident.

He knew that himself, to be honest, he had been right there and seen it, as if in slow motion. He couldn't do anything to stop the over-surreal moment in which Bumblebee's bare spark had surged upwards to meet the white servo in an arch against the pain.

He offlined his optics, shifting his hold minutely on the mech in his arms.

When he'd seen Bumblebee's pain reflected in Wheeljack's optics, It had caused a sick sort of dread to ball up in his tank, and it sat there, writhing and pulsing as it got denser.

He looked down at the battered protoform, lying sideways, faceplate burrowed into his own scuffed yellow and black servos and Prowl's midriff. He hadn't WANTED Prowl to let him go. How he found the position at all comfortable, the ninja couldn't fathom, but he guessed it was hard for him to feel any worse physically than he already did. And apart from that, how could he deny him?

If he needed someone to be there for him, then Prowl would be that someone, he had promised as much.

He stared long and hard at the battered mech, faceplate mostly hidden under the swell of his windscreen.

That feeling that he was too small returned, like he was a sparkling that needed protection, and yet he knew he was no such thing.

Not this mech, who'd faced down Decepticons as many times as he had.

A Sparkling would be dead by now. Any other mech would be dead by now, surely. But… why him?

Prowl was not a big believer in Primus. He believed in energy, in what he knew, and what he could feel. Deities had no place in his world, but he did, more than once, have some sense of a higher power, a higher consciousness directing the flow of negative and positive energy in the world. A consciousness that he appealed to, on more than one occasion.

And ever since they had recovered the sub compact from his ordeal, he'd asked again and again.

WHY? Why him? What did he do? What could possibly have been so bad, that he may have done, to deserve any of this?

And Prowl knew, from the look on Bumblebee's face when he endured the further torture of the purges, that he was asking someone, or something, in his meta, the same question. Which he would not do, if he thought there was truly some karmic debt he owed.

He had done nothing.

If Bumblebee had believed in Primus before, Prowl was sure he probably didn't anymore.

Not that he felt his own beliefs offered any better kind of consolation.

The black and gold mech was not the only one kept from recharge that night.

Wheeljack lay on his bunk, optics wide and bright, staring at the ceiling of his room on the ship.

He couldn't shake the images. couldn't push them to the back of his meta in order to rest.

And a part of him didn't want to.

Didn't think he had any right to.

Knowing someone was in a world of pain was quite another thing to feeling, even just briefly, their agony.

He prided himself on being able to work things out, be they inventions, engineering problems, or even the problems of other mechs.

But this… he could not wrap his processor around.

Nevermind that the Images themselves haunted him. He knew they'd rouse him from recharge even if he managed it.

No, what he couldn't understand, was how Bumblebee had survived it.

How he was still surviving it.

All that torture, the countless violations, the scarring to his spark, the virus that nearly claimed him, and the subsequent torture of the purges… what in Primus' name was keeping him going?

Wheeljack had felt it himself, and that's what deepened the mystery for him.

Bumblebee didn't want to be alive to suffer so much more on top of the trauma.

And yet, his spark would not extinguish.

The engineer had seen lesser wounds cause a mech to offline.

He supposed if he knew the bot better, he'd have a clearer picture of the before and after. Maybe then he'd have insight into why he was still online.

What is he living for?

His team… they're very close. Ratchet couldn't just put the kid out of his misery, not that I blame him… and that Prowl. He's an odd one alright, but he must have a strong connection to Bumblebee, or at least mean an awful lot to him, the way he's dependant on him now.

But then, they seem kinda awkward when Bee is OK.

Perhaps they were just colleagues before this? Hmmm, drastic situations do bring out some unexpected feelings in different mechs.

Wheeljack ex-vented and turned onto his side, staring unseeingly out at his room.

He offlined his optics and shuddered as memories instantly flashed through his meta.

He faced them, processed them, as much as they sickened or disgusted him.

As wrong as he felt prying into memories that weren't his, he needed to face them, because Bumblebee was not doing so. And he wouldn't expect him to.

He curled in on himself with the recollection of just how physically painful the purge had been.
Even the memory of Shockwave's claw on the little mech's spark was unbearable.

How did he survive?

An overwhelming wave of despair shuddered through him, but it wasn't his. Not really. It was sympathy pain.

Suffering none of them could stop… Primus he felt helpless.

I have to rest, I have to be in top form to operate, it's all I can do for him.

But what if it wasn't?

Wheeljack rolled onto his front with a huff.

He was currently the only one who knew exactly what was going on inside that little black and yellow bot. The agony, the memories, the feeling of worthless disgust he seemed to feel for himself for 'letting' it happen.

No.

No, Wheeljack couldn't allow that.

He wasn't going to sit by, knowing how deep the mech's pain ran, and not do something about it.

He would analyse every inch of memory he could, and he would help Bumblebee through it. Help him exorcise the demons in his spark and meta.

But he would need Perceptors help. He had no degrees in psychology, just a knack for gauging mechs' feelings and countering them.

Bumblebee needed a better reason to live than the deep seated fear of death and simple inability to offline himself.

Wheeljack would just have to give him reason, somehow. He'd find something.

When Ratchet woke from an unrestful recharge the next day, he had to order Prowl to go and get some recharge. The bot had apparently been up the whole night, sitting in the same position he'd left him in, and refused to move until Ratchet checked the monitors and told him Bumblebee would most likely remain offline for the rest of the day.

His spark was still so weak that even a relatively small amount of taxing meant he needed extra recharge.

Prowl could only be convinced to recharge on the spare berth in the corner, so Ratchet left him to it and went to go grab some energon after leaving the cube he'd already had in sub-space with the ninja.

When he walked into the main room of the base, he was slightly startled by the buzz of activity.

Of course, the operations of their little base were still going on, though not everyone was out patrolling. The decepticons had been laying low, so most of the mechs were simply learning more about earth.

It seemed to be a good distraction for Sari and Bulkhead to talk the elite guard mechs through Earth law, culture and customs.

Currently, Bulkhead seemed to be struggling with explaining art, and his own interest in it.
Optimus spared a glance from the monitor bank to give the medic a nod and a small wave. He looked as troubled as Ratchet felt. And he hadn't even been present for all the stressful processes and incidents with the damaged scout.

Which was probably part of his anxiety. Ratchet knew Optimus was an extremely compassionate mech. One of his team had undergone horrendous torture on his watch, and not only was that likely eating him up inside, but the helplessness of hearing Bumblebee's screams and being unable to do anything about it, or even know why he was still in so much pain, was probably as hard on him as knowing would be.

His entrance of course did not go unnoticed, and the moment he had a fresh cube, Bulkhead caught his optic and waved him over.

He trudged over to the couch, where they'd roped clumps of empty barrels together for makeshift extra stools.

"Hey Ratchet, how ya feelin'?"

The large green mech gave him a wan grin and a pat on the shoulder, the medic returning the gesture before he sat heavily on a barrel-seat, leaning his elbows onto his knees and sipping from his cube.

"I'm alright. Bit tired, but the fuel will fix that. You lot doing alright then? Settling in OK? I hope no one's ticked off Fanzone yet…"

The look on Bulkhead's faceplate gave away whatever Ratchet hadn't heard about, and the red and white groaned.

"Ok, which of the newbies did what?"

"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe keep breaking the speed limit. They're not really used to doing anything below standard cybertronian 80 grids a cycle. That's not even fast for them, but apparently it's something like a hundred of whatever this planet's measurements are over whatever their limit is… can't blame 'em. So damn slow around here. What's wrong with these humans? Can't concentrate at high speeds?"

Brawn chuckled, sitting back and gulping from a can of oil a quarter of his size.

"Hehn. They can't even concentrate at low speeds, that's why their government keeps the city speeds down. That and their vehicle brakes aren't anything as good as Cybertronian ones. They go too fast, they can't stop in time if an obstacle presents itself." Ratchet explained.

Ironhide grunted. "They do seem to be somethin' of a distractable lot. No wonder neither, all the shiny, flashy stuff they put on the sides of the road, they got a long way to go in terms of planning and layout. At least this place has plenty of elevated highways. Ah hate drivin' at street level. Gotta keep an optic on 'em all in case they run into me. Not that they could do anything, but I don't wanna see what happens when one of 'em breaks and leaks."

"Too right you don't. We're not as easy to fix as you guys. Can't just replace what's broken and weld it into place. Organics heal slowly and with lots of pain when major stuff breaks." Sari sighed, and it was the first Ratchet noticed the techno-organic.
It was no wonder, given she was hidden from his view by Bulkhead's frame, but he leant around the green chassis to take a critical look at her less than perky form.

"Hey kid, how're you doing?"

She looked up with the same wan half smile that Bulkhead had worn, sitting with her knees drawn up and arms around them, looking almost as small as if she were still in her first frame.

It still felt kind of odd, despite it being normal to their kind, to think she was actually in something of a frame. He'd only just gotten used to the human state of being born and dieing in the one body that changed throughout their lifecycle.

Now he had to keep reminding himself she'd be changing frames like any regular Cybertronian sparkling.

"I'm OK Ratchet… how's… how's Bee?" Even her voice sounded like it had before her upgrade. Small, child-like… but with more anxiety than a youngling her age should have.

All optics trained on him, and he knew the question was bound to come anyway from the moment he'd stepped into the room.

"We've had some setbacks. But repairs are coming along on the physical level. We have enough spark essence to code the proto-alloy for his new dermal plating, but we won't be able to put it on yet, and he needs a lot of rest to recover. His spark is still weak. Stronger than it was, but weak enough that small efforts are a big strain. He's gonna be in stasis all day, so we're taking a rest break to plan the next repair job." Ratchet explained.

"So, we won't be able to see him again soon, huh?" Sari sounded like she had expected the disappointment, and Bulkhead's servo moved to rub her back gently.

"I'm sorry Sari. I'll let you know the moment you can though. I know it's a slow process, but we'll get there. Our next session is probably going to involve fixing his leg struts and joints, so he can walk again. He'll probably start feeling a lot better once he can get himself around base again." The red and white mech tried to reassure her, at least give her some glimmer of optimism.

It seemed to work too, a little more of the usual light coming back to him out of the now blue eyes.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe drove sedately through the human city. This was an effort for them, But Rodimus had reinforced that it was probably a good thing for them to practice restraint.

They had chaffed a little at this, but they both respected the Prime enough to listen, and kept to the human's ridiculous speed limits during patrols, remembering the road rules deftly.

It had been hard at first, the both of them going as fast as legally possible and cutting it as fine to the law as they could… until they found that it didn't matter how fast they made the first circuit of their route, they were stuck running it for an allotted time, and so there really was no reason to rush.

Not like they had anything interesting to get back to at the 'base'.

Like they could really call it a proper base.

~I know right? How have those mechs even coped all this time?~ Sideswipe intoned over the bond as they sat at a set of red lights, powerful engines purring as they idled.

~Fragged if I know, I don't even think they've been passing the time 'facing. They all seem too… formal with each other for that. Well not… 'formal' formal, but you know.~

Sideswipe sent a noise of agreement to Sunstreaker, rolling forward smoothly as the traffic responded to the green.

~Yea, I get you. I mean, I've heard Jazz mention 'television', but just ONE form of entertainment can't be enough, surely?~

They drove in silence for a while, the slowness rather new to them… and oddly hypnotic.

Human traffic stressed human drivers. For them, being surrounded by non-sentient machinery that couldn't harm them, and the thrum of life and noise and, above all, engines… was somewhat soothing.

It was so different from the sounds, and smells, and social expectations of the public areas of Cybertron.

It was hard to forget they were somewhere foreign, but despite it's local populace, Earth seemed a curious and intriguing place to the Twins.

~Think we'll get to meet him?~

~Huh?~

~That scout, Bumblebee.~

~Well that was a non-sequiter Sides~

~Yea whatever, reckon we'll get to talk to him and stuff?~

Sunstreaker gave a mental shrug. ~Why would they let us?~

The red twin gave him the equivalent of an internal frown. ~Why wouldn't they? I know he's been to the pit and back, but I'm sure he doesn't see himself as some kind of celebrity for it. Why wouldn't we be allowed to talk to him, he's just a regular mech.~

The golden twin sighed with a soft rev. ~Yea, but why do you think he'd want to talk to us? Or ANY-BOT for that matter? He's a mess, so far as I can tell from the way the others are acting. And have you not seen the look on the ninja-bot's face? He's like the scout's guard-mech or something. Don't know that HE'D want us anywhere near him. Probably thinks we'd compromise his recovery or something.~

Sideswipe sighed through his vents, slowing to a stop at another set of red lights. He had to concede that his brother had a good point.

The human driver beside them, in a heavily modified car, started gesticulating at the two.

He revved his vehicle's throaty engine, and Sunstreaker shared a mental glance with his brother, snickering. They didn't have to understand humans to know that they were being challenged to a drag race.

~We'd get done by the law enforcers around here for doing it~ Sunstreaker intoned mildly.

~Yea but it's not like the humans can DO anything to us. Anyway, WE'RE being provoked… we can pretend we weren't told drag racing between the lights is illegal.~

They shared a mental grin and revved their engines. The lights turned green.

The chewing out from Optimus and smacks to the back of the helm from Ironhide was worth it to see the look on the humans faces.

Not only had they munched the pistons of the human's pathetic vehicle, but they'd gotten wide eyed looks of, what was to them, admiration from surrounding pedestrians.

Despite misreading human incredulity for envy and praise, they nevertheless found themselves a friend after their lecture, in the form of a small techno-organic.

She had been loitering outside the doors of the main room, looking rather amused, but unmistakeably curious.

"Hey… you're Bumblebee's pet human right?" Sideswipe asked, crouching down to her level and tilting his helm.

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as the femmelet huffed and glared. "I'm his FRIEND. You can't keep humans as pets."

"Awww and I had my spark set on a model like you." The red twin pouted teasingly.

The human caught on to his joke pretty quickly, unable to suppress a weak smile.

"Oh ha ha. I'm guessing you don't even know what we eat."

"Sure I do! You eat stuff that comes out of colourful wrappings, synthesised and produced in ways that actually make it harmful to your systems. See, I do my research." Sideswipe said brightly with a grin, clearly pleased with himself.

This managed to pull a laugh out of the girl.

"I think Bumblebee will like you guys."

Sideswipe shared a surprised look with his brother, who raised an orbital ridge.

"Really? We don't know much about him, other than, y'know, he's a hero and unreasonably brave for his size."

The little girl grinned slightly again, but this time it was a little sadder. "Oh man, the stories I could tell you guys."

"Might as well find somewhere to park our afts so you can tell us, we don't really have anything else to do." Sunstreaker answered.

"Yea, we're grounded until they think up a suitable punishment for us." The red twin added.

The techno-organic led the way to her own room.

~Well, here's a convenient chance to get to know more about the scout without having to meet him~ Sideswipe commented over the bond.
~Try not to offend her too much though, from what I know they're pretty close. She's probably a bit fragile.~ Sunstreaker replied sagely.

~Pfff, since when have YOU been the softly-softly caring type?~ his twin replied teasingly.

~Since Rodimus made a human cry on one of our last patrols together. Trust me, you do NOT want her doing that, it's awkward as slag~.

When Bumblebee next awoke, he didn't speak. At all. Not even to Prowl.

The ninja looked to Ratchet with despair but the old medic simply shook his head.

He knew Prowl wanted to try and ask Bumblebee to talk about what had happened with Wheeljack… to relieve himself of the memories plaguing him, but Ratchet had the feeling it would cause more harm than good at the moment. It was still too raw, too near.

He needed distractions from the memories so they could continue their work, get him to a state where he wasn't juggling injury and memory together.

Before they could continue repairs of course, they had to be sure the scout did not object to Wheeljack's presence.

The Engineer had only gotten broken recharge, but he'd worked longer on less, so doing his job effectively wasn't his main concern.

He'd agonised, to Perceptor mainly, over what he should do… what he should say… what he shouldn't.

All assuming Bumblebee wanted him anywhere near him.

"Wheeljack… I'm starting to think it may be wise for you not to attempt repairs until you have counselled yourself through his memories. I still think the wisest course is to delete them, you're seeing them was an accident anyway, it will make sure you are undistracted-"

The engineer shook his helm at Perceptor adamantly, helm panels flashing a dark blue.

"No… no, Perce, I can't. I can't shut off my emotional centre like you can, the backlash would be just as bad as processing the memories. Anyway, that would be… would FEEL too much like a betrayal. He's going through it, and like it or not, now I know the intimacies of what he's dealing with. I should use this to help him… somehow… I just don't know how to help him cope when I can't…"

"Well… you make a good point. You need to purge your emotions on the matter. I am very good at purging emotions, so expatiate to me, and it should help you regain control of your emotional centre, correct?"

Wheeljack looked up at his scientific partner, optics wide and pale, and nodded slightly.

The red, green and white mech sighed expansively through his vents and leant on his knees. They were sat in his quarters on the ship, Perceptor taking a seat in the chair at Wheeljack's desk, swivelling it to face the engineer, who was slouched on the edge of his berth.

"I'm not even sure where to start. It's… it was… mostly pain. All encompassing, every node, every nanite of his frame. I can't comprehend how he didn't glitch and go mad.'

'It was relentless… incredible. Just when you think it can't feel any worse, it just goes to another level, until it whites out so intensely you don't even know if you're feeling pain or you've stopped existing all together. The feed halts all other processing for a moment until it finally relents… and even as it ebbs, it doesn't stop, every moment you relax, it spikes, just enough to keep on, never any rest… THAT'S what he's feeling, THAT'S what he's dealing with every single time he goes through one of those spark purges."

He looked up at the scientist, anguish clear even on his masked features.

"How do you even BEGIN to console some-bot going through that Perce?"

The scientist sat, contemplative, one leg crossed over the other and an arm across his midriff, other servo slowly rubbing over his chin guard.

He stared unseeingly at the wall for a few moments, deep in processing.

"How would YOU deal with it? If it were you, in his position… what do you compute you would feel?" He asked softly.

Wheeljack made a rueful sound.

"I would have gone mad. I'd want to offline. Same way he does." There was a keening note to the end of his statement. It was hard to process how he felt over the scout's death wish.

He understood it… took pity, thought he should be allowed it, and at the same time, it was too horrible to contemplate, that he should survive so much only to end it and waste the effort.

"You need to think beyond that. He is not allowed to offline, or it would already have been done. What then do you process you would feel?" The scientist prompted gently.

Wheeljack gave it a fair amount of consideration. Putting what he'd felt from the memory transfer together with his own sense of empathetic thinking, he deduced that what he'd crave was a sense of normalcy. Something to make things right again.

Nothing big…. A distraction, to keep his mind off his internal turmoil.

"We need to find out what he used to do. Find something he can focus on, a distraction… but when the time comes to work him through this… I'm no counsellor. But I should help him, I WANT to. From a logical point of view, I'm the best candidate given I know to the greatest degree possible what's plaguing him, but… I just don't know how to approach that."

"Again, I believe the answer lies in processing what you yourself would feel… how you would want to confront the issue, or be confronted about it."

Wheeljack frowned slightly, optics dimming as he processed deeply on the problem.

"I guess… I wouldn't want it to be danced around. If I had to talk about it with someone that knew, I wouldn't want them trying to sugar coat it. Just take it head on."

Perceptor nodded in agreement, still looking rather pensive.

"You should also be prepared for anger though. That will be a natural progression of emotion from him once he regains the strength to BE angry.

The engineer looked up at his friend warily. "And… what should I do when he reaches that stage?"

"Oh I don't think you'll be who he takes it out on. That would more likely be Prowl and Ratchet. Mechs who saved him but don't know what he's been feeling to quite the same depth you do. We'll have to deal with that as it comes though. For now, getting him to a point where he can process the metaphysical pain without the physical bothering him is our goal." the red and teal scientist answered sagely.

Working on the small mech's frame, his conversation from that morning ran on a constant loop in Wheeljack's helm.

Bumblebee had been despondent to the point where they thought his emotional centre had overloaded and shut down.

He had given absolutely no sign he minded the engineer's presence, hadn't given any indication what level of pain he was in, and mostly stared at the ceiling while they carefully stripped away some of the ruined components in his thighs.

If they didn't know better, they'd have thought they were simply doing work on a drone.

Ratchet had tried speaking to the scout, but he got very little out of him.

Basic answers to questions, or sounds in the yes or no region.

The longest sentence they got out of him was when he told Prowl he should go get some fresh air and move so his joints didn't cramp up.

Prowl didn't argue with Bumblebee, surprisingly. He just nodded, promised he'd be back later, and did what the minibot had suggested.

The medic shared a look with Perceptor not long after, who was sat in the corner at a work bench coding the spark corona sample into the proto-alloy they had brought with them to fabricate the replacement parts they needed.

Perceptor, do you think it's worth us leaving Wheeljack to talk to Bumblebee alone for a while?

Actually Ratchet, I was wondering if I shouldn't ask you the same thing. Given Bumblebee's… apparent state of mind today, I believe it could certainly not do any harm to allow them privacy to talk.

"Hmm. Ratchet, I've left an instrument on the ship I think I could do with here. Could you please come and help me retrieve it?" The scientist asked mildly.

"Yeah, sure. You'll be OK carrying on this circuit repair on your own won't you Wheeljack?"

The white and green bot's helm panels flashed in slight surprise.

"Oh…uh… yea… I guess so…"

Wheeljack gave them a slightly shrewd look as they left. He knew what was going on really, no matter how they tried to pass it off as something casual and coincidental.

He sighed and swallowed compulsively, nervousness creeping up on him.

He looked up the frame half covered by thermal blanket.

Bumblebee, if he suspected there was ulterior motive to the other mechs leaving, did not show it.

The engineer vented a sigh, screwing up his conviction.

"I'm sorry… for earlier… for touching your spark."

The scout turned his helm and focussed on Wheeljack with a slight look of confusion.

"Huh? What?… why?"

Wheeljack shuttered his optics, mirroring the yellow mech's confusion.

"Why?… Aren't you mad at me? Even a little?… I mean I… I invaded your privacy in the worst possible way-"

The sound of a hollow laugh from the smaller mech silenced the engineer, and intensified his bewilderment.

"You and I both know I've had my privacy well and truly invaded in the worst way. At least you didn't do it on purpose."

Bumblebee's voice was flat and emotionless, and it worried the engineer.

But then everything about the scout worried him.

"But aren't you… aren't you mad, at all, about it?"

That seemed to give him pause for a moment. His optics unfocussed slightly and he frowned a little.

"I… I should be… I want to be, but I can't… how do you make yourself feel angry when it's like there's no room left next to everything else, there's so much… so much…"

Bumblebee looked away at the ceiling again.

"Pain?"

Wheeljack's voice was very soft as he put his tools down unconsciously.

The smaller mech didn't answer, and there were a few moments of heavy silence.

"I always figured there must be some kind of limit. To how much you could feel before you blacked out. How much of anything. And pain… I thought a spark could be extinguished if it was hurt badly enough, all those old stories about tragic bondmates, one off lining and the other wasting away or flashing out because their spark couldn't take it. I figured at one point that would happen, I was waiting for it-"

"I know… I know you were praying to Primus for it until you decided Primus didn't exist. I sometimes wonder myself if he exists when something like this happens."

The white and green mech met Bumblebee's gaze when it snapped back to his.

Far from the despondence from the rest of the day, the small bot's optics were fairly burning with emotions unspoken, until he looked away again, as if ashamed to show any sort of acknowledgement of the thoughts Wheeljack had become privy to via the accident.

The engineer pressed on cautiously. If this got Bumblebee angry at him, it was better than nothing.

There were things he wanted to let the scout know that he'd seen, that he knew.

More importantly, he didn't want the bot to let them stay hidden and unacknowledged, eating away at the inside of his meta.

"You don't know how to cope with any of this. Your spark is doing all the physical work of dumping negative charge it's absorbed, but that doesn't make you feel better, it makes it worse. It just reminds you what they did, and you're… you're so afraid."

Wheeljack reached out and laid a servo over one of Bumblebee's, and it flinched and curled into a fist.

The sub-compact didn't look at him, but Wheeljack heard the hitch in his vents.

"You're terrified it's never going to end. It's going to happen again, and nothing can stop it… because they didn't stop it before, and they can't now… and Shockwave is still out there."

Wheeljack's voice had grown quieter, and he barely uttered the Decepticon's name above a whisper.

Bumblebee gave a soft keen and drew his servo out from under the engineer's, pushing feebly against the berth to try and move away from him.

"Why are making me think about it? I don't want to remember, I don't want to think, I don't want… I want it to stop, all of it, just stop!"

The white and green mech moved awkwardly, taking up a stance much like Prowl had.

This was one of the parts he wasn't confident with.

Unsure what reaction he'd get, praying he was doing something right, he drew the scout into his arms in a slow, terribly gentle embrace, as if he was afraid to even do that in case he broke the sub-compact.

Bumblebee struggled slightly, but it hurt too much and he quickly slumped, curling his arms over his chest plates and turning his faceplate away, optics shuttered tight.

"You can't stop it… and I don't know that I can either, not right now. But I know there's something you're more afraid of than this."

Wheeljack rocked back and forward gently, the smaller mech's ventilations uneven and harsh through damaged systems. He really didn't know what he was doing, but motion felt better than sitting with gears locked.

"You're scared it will happen again… but not just to you, you think it could happen to your friends, and that terrifies you more."

"I can't do anything… I'm not strong, I'm not smart, I can't… why am I still alive?" the words were gasped and strained.

The engineer shook his helm slightly.

"I don't know… I can't explain why Primus didn't take you back to the well, and I know you don't believe in him anymore but-" Wheeljack paused, optics dim as he tried to organise his thoughts and overcome the emotions swelling in his spark and threatening to glitch his vocaliser.

"Maybe you've got things you still need to do here? Maybe he thought you needed more time. You can get stronger. And smarter. You're only young Bumblebee. You've got so much further you could go, and maybe Primus thinks that if you're given the time, you'll be able to change something."

The engineers words trailed away as the scout shook his helm and curled in on himself a little more, shuddering.

"Primus doesn't exist. How could he? How could anything like Primus let this happen?… Might as well be Unicron. Might as well be nothing. Nothing looks out for us. Better to think that than know something is there and it LETS our sparks live through…"

The scout cut himself off with a shuddering intake and a small, frustrated keen.

"You know how you said you couldn't feel angry? That there was no room?" Wheeljack asked softly after a few moments silence.

"Scrap what I said. I'm angry. I'm furious." The sub-compact chocked out through static.

"…You just don't know who you're furious at?"

The engineer's softly spoken half-question was met with another sound of frustration.

"I try to work it out and I feel like there's nothing… no one to BE angry at, so I think I shouldn't be angry. Without that all I have is the pain, and trying to ignore that… what am I supposed to do? There's just… nothing. I can't be mad, I'm tired of being hurt, but then there's nothing else there to feel."

"Maybe… try to not feel anything?"

The words seemed half-formed and slightly stupid to Wheeljack, even as he said them.

Even Bumblebee gave him an odd look, caught between incredulity, confusion and hopelessness.

The engineer pressed on though, the sense of what he'd said dawning on him as he spoke.

"I mean… you wouldn't feel good, if you stopped trying to feel. But you wouldn't feel bad… I don't know why you hate yourself. I mean… OK, I get why you do, that's a natural reaction to your situation, but you don't HAVE to, you know. You shouldn't. You did everything right. What happened to you wasn't your fault- no, don't interrupt… I'm on a roll, it wasn't your fault. Every victim wonders that at some point, that's just fact. A natural process, eliminate possible causes to prevent recurrence. You didn't do anything to deserve what happened."

"So how does feeling nothing help?… That's what I was TRYING to do before… this. You're the one who wanted to get me to talk about it and think about it and now you want me to ignore it?" Bumblebee's voice was harsh, but unsure.

He didn't mean to be unkind to Wheeljack, but his spark was laid bare to the mech, metaphysically. He was vulnerable. He was defensive. No bot got into his spark without hurting him… life taught him that way before any of his current problems had manifested.

Wheeljack, as emotionally dense as he knew himself to be most of the time, still managed to get a sense of this defensiveness, making the logical connections.

Bumblebee, clearly, was not used to being truly close to anyone. His reactions were like those of a cornered, abused anibot. He had learned somewhere that closeness meant pain, and right now he was not in a position to deal with any more of that.

Realising this made the white and green mech's spark ache sympathetically.

"You can chose not to hate yourself, for starters. You have to accept you couldn't control this situation. Let that go. Move on."

"What am I supposed to move on TO? What do I even do? Drag everybody else d-"

"If that were true, you wouldn't be in this situation. You and the rest of your team would probably be offline. Start with stopping this whole 'I am only a liability' thing. Because that's flat out slag."

Bumblebee flinched at the slightly harsh edge to Wheeljack's tone, but he did not argue the point. Automatically, something inside him denied the engineer's declaration he was worth something.

The ingrained train of thought he had developed in the Decepticon brig instantly answered the idea that he had worth with 'if you did, you wouldn't have been put into the situation you were by the universal powers that be'.

But a tiny voice inside him… an old one, which had kept his spark from breaking from lack of familial support… that little voice that had once been the only thing bolstering his own self-worth, told him that perhaps it was not so unbelievable that he could not be at fault for everything that had happened to him.

His voice of guilt was a lot stronger than it used to be though, now his self-confidence had been beaten to a pulp, and it quickly quashed his thoughts of being innocent.

Look at you, arguing with a bot who has no obligation to help you. You're not worth his time and attention, but he's giving it to you. What is WRONG with you?"

The beetle slumped in Wheeljack's slightly awkward embrace.

That question seemed to hit a chord, internally.

"What IS wrong with me?"

The white and green bot holding him shifted slightly to ease the tension on some of his joints.

"Other than a lot of the physical stuff I'm sure you're well aware of?… Perceptor said something about high possibility for Disthymia and severe post traumatic stress, chronic anxiety… pretty much every problem a trauma victim could suffer, you're likely to suffer more than one of them. But that's a normal reaction. Keep that in mind, OK? It's not you, It's a natural response, and we know how to help you through it. It's gonna be hard for you to separate yourself from what happened to you. First and foremost, you need to accept you aren't at fault. That'd be the first hurdle, I think. That's how you let go of the feelings and feel nothing… and I think… it'll stop a lot of the psychological pain, too"

Wheeljack spoke softly, shrugging.

Bumblebee was quiet for a while. He tried to keep his meta blank, to stop letting the chaos of thoughts overwhelm his processor.

Emotions cascaded through the scout like his own private internal storm.

He felt… so much, he couldn't pick an emotion to settle on, couldn't pin one down, and overall he didn't like the unsettling sensation of it all.

He just wanted to feel NORMAL. How could he ever feel that again when he was so… different from what he'd been before.

He hadn't made himself different, but he still felt like it had been some inevitable slope he'd put himself on with his pathetic life.

Probably the worst of the emotions piled up on his spark, making it feel heavy, was the fear.

So much to be afraid of, but the thing most prominent was the possibility he would just keep on living.

And wasn't that just fuel for the fire of depression.

"What if I never… if it never DOES get better?"

That tiny, nearly inaudible question nearly broke Wheeljack's spark. No matter how quiet it was, or how dull his emotive perception was, he couldn't miss the fear in that quiet question.

He hugged Bumblebee a little closer, willing the spark he'd connected with so briefly to be healed, by something, ANYTHING, just so it wouldn't shatter his faith in the greater powers of the universe.

He refused to believe life was lived by some only for them to experience such desolation of hope.

"You can. You will, it just takes time. Might seem like forever, while you get there, but… there's so much more, and I know it feels trivial now to think of what stupid little things make you happy compared to what terrible things make you feel like life isn't worth the effort, but it IS. Normal… normal will be different, it won't ever be the same, but you'll get there again. Give it long enough and you'll get back to being happy and enjoying the stupid little things again. Little things make a difference… don't discount them. Little things are easy… and it SHOULD be easy to feel happy, you just have to let yourself feel it."

"I don't think I can" the reply was almost a plead. Wheeljack turned the smaller mech's helm gently to get his optic contact. His expression was earnest, optics and helm panels a little over-bright with emotion, but Bumblebee didn't baulk at the light. He searched the engineer's expression as if looking for a life-line.

"Not yet, Bumblebee… but if you try, I think you'll be able to let yourself be happy again. You gotta work at it, but it can be done. Just give it time. Trust me. It's WORTH fighting for."

Chapter Text

By the time the medical team had gotten well into the task of leg repairs the next day, Bumblebee was singing.

Prowl cringed at the worse notes and continued to hold the small mech's servo, sharing looks with Ratchet.

Oh they'd heard him sing before, but whenever he had, they'd shut him up by throwing various things at him.

Right now, a shuriken bounced off his helm or a smack upside the cranial unit could do serious damage. Plus, it WAS their fault.

He was back on high-grade while they repaired his legs, and at some point halfway through he had decided to start singing a few of his and Sari's favourite heavy metal ballads.

He tended to tunelessly mumble his way through the parts he didn't know (which was most of it) and then blare out the lyrics he DID know (or at least the bits he thought he did, though he'd misheard a lot).

Wheeljack worked on serenely like it was nothing, but Perceptor seemed extremely put off whenever the sub-compact chimed out off-key choruses.

"Bumblebee…"

" Nananaaanaanana na-RIGHT IN THE EEEYE OF THE STOOORM!"

"Bumbleb-"

" You know that when duuuuuuhduhduhduuuuuun- YOU GOT THE TOUCH!"

"BEE"

"Yea Prooooowl?"

"Would you like it if I brought you your MP3 player?"

"…That'd be aweeeesome."

"Would you like me to adjust your tonal reception and feedback software?" Perceptor asked as politely as he could.

Bumblebee frowned slightly. "Why? S'nothing wrong with it."

"He's sayin' you sing off-key kid." Ratchet's tone was amused rather than chastising.

Bumblebee turned his frown on Ratchet.

"No it isn't, my singing s'fine, Sari says I'm good… jus' don't know all the words."

"With all due respect, you are switching between three different octaves in a random sequence, sometimes within one note. I believe the piece you are trying to reproduce is in the key of D."

Perceptor said rather matter-of-factly.

Wheeljack gave him a look across the table and the scout's deconstructed leg-struts.

"For starters, why do YOU even know that song Perce, and second, it's not in the key of D, it's in the key of awesome."

Bumblebee snorted and held up a servo.

Wheeljack looked at it, puzzled.

"He wants you to give him a high-five." Ratchet explained.

"Yeah, you jus' pwn'd him, don't leave me hangin' bot" the sub compact stated seriously.

Behind him, Prowl mimicked a high five with his own servos to show Wheeljack what to do.

The engineer tentatively clapped his palm against Bumblebee's, and that seemed to satisfy him.

His helm panels flashed a curious blue before he went back to his work.

"How do YOU even know that song Wheeljack?" Ratchet piped up, raising an orbital ridge at the white and green bot.

"Oh, I overheard the femmelet… Sari, she was showing Sunstreaker and Sideswipe a bunch of earth culture. I took a look out of interest. Earth has much stranger music than us."

"Who and whoooo?" the scout on the berth rolled his helm to look between the medic and engineer.

"Two of the elite guard mechs stationed here to help us run the base." Prowl explained. "Actually, they're not unlike you Bumblebee. Different frame type, same attitude to speed limits and road rules."

Bumblebee made a snort-like noise. "How many ticket's they got so far?"

"Twenty One." Prowl replied nonchalantly.

"So no, they haven't beaten your record yet." Ratchet added with a small snicker.

"Hehn. Good… I guess." The scout sounded more bemused than pleased, flinching when Wheeljack had to snap a wire to remove it from where it had been cinched against a warped strut.

"Sorry."

"S'ok. HEY…Heyyyy Prowl, you can sing yea?" Bumblebee asked with intense curiosity, ignoring whatever other pains were caused by the repair work.

"Ummm. I've been told I can carry a tune, but that's about the extent of my abilities."

Prowl seemed both apprehensive and a little confused.

"Why don't yooooooou sing something, so 'Ceptor doesn' keep cringin'".

"I wasn't-"

"I can see you from here y'know"

"…Alright, maybe a little, but my scale detection software is easily irritated when something variates off a set Soundwave path that it should be following"

"You'd be good at singstar" Bumblebee snickered.

"At what, sorry?"

"It's a videogame Perceptor." Ratchet waved a servo at him distractedly.

"A videogame?"

"I'll show you later Perce'." Wheeljack said with a hint of amusement.

Bumblebee ran out of songs after a little while, humming petering out to nothing, the sub-compact studying his repaired shoulder joint listlessly, optics focussing in and out depending on how much he concentrated.

Sensing the onset of overcharge melancholia again, Prowl searched his meta for something to distract the scout.

"Bumblebee… I wanted to ask you about something."

"Hmmmm?" The dull blue optics turned to him, and he could see it was in fact an effort for him to focus them.

"You muttered something in recharge the other night that got me thinking… it was just a designation. Proto-designation. S5?"

Bumblebee blinked at him slowly.

"Yeah?… was in m' batch. I'm Essex."

"Essex?" Prowl tilted his helm, a little confused.

"He's saying 'S' Six. High-grade makes it harder to separate common phonetics. It took you that long to realise he was a batch spark?" Ratchet answered, looking up at him briefly from his work.

"Wassabigdeal? Was th'laaaast batch. My serial number's'on my casing." He gave Prowl a slightly shrewd, curious look. "Why, waddidisay?"

Prowl gave a nonchalant shrug. "Just something like 'stop it or we'll get in trouble'."

"Oooooh he DID get in trooouble. Kept fooling 'round. Broke m'seals."

Wheeljack paused, frowning slightly. "Wait, he…"

"I'm not sure we should encourage this topic, it is rather personal and he is not master of all his facaul-"
The minibot cut Perceptor of with a barked laugh that held no amusement whatsoever.

"Pers'nal… 'case you hadn' noticed, I'm a bit past personal, with no panel n' no chest-plating n' all the other slag." He drawled, bitter edge to his voice not hidden.

"Look, 's no biggie. So I lost my seals early. Better that th'n the altre-… atlern-… than if he hadn' n it woulda been the cons. They didn't get that. Least they didn't get that". His tone was sullen and he wasn't looking at Prowl anymore, gaze falling instead on some point on the wall to his left.

"Bumblebee, it is a good thing they didn't get that… but you could only have been orns old… for all intents and purposes none of you should even of HAD the programming that guides or initiates those… urges, until you were given your final upgrades and emancipated." Wheeljack explained gently.

Bee frowned slightly. "So?… They wanted t' reseal me but I said no. Hurt 'nuff the firs' time getting 'em off. S5 only did it 'cause warden Greenhelm did it t' him. I liked S5, I wish they hadn' sent him away after."

The other four mechs shared grim, mortified looks that the sub-compact remained oblivious to.

It was clear Bumblebee either had no idea how exploited his young innocence had been, or he dealt with it psychologically by telling himself there was nothing very wrong with it.

All four of them had questions, but none could quite bring themselves to push the topic, not when it would likely distress or aggravate Bumblebee, who went back to quietly staring into space again.

Possibly the worst part was that S5... Whoever he was now, had also been gravely wronged.

For all intents and purposes, de-sealing a minor, even if you were yourself a minor, was rape.

And the revelation that a public warden… charged with a duty of protection of what was essentially full-frame sparklings, had violated one of them and caused them developmental harm introducing interface protocols too early…

That was an offence that garnered decavorns in the stockades.

And they were on a planet light-years from Cybertron, suddenly armed with incriminating evidence for a violation that was by now vorns old.

It made Ratchet angry to the point of feeling nauseous that he couldn't do anything about it. That he couldn't hunt down the filthy mech called Greenhelm and have him punished for what he did.

Primus… just when he thought his spark couldn't ache any worse for Bumblebee, now he found the kid had been the victim of violation before he'd even reached maturity.

He'd always questioned the will of Primus in his line of work. But he'd never thought such a victimisation against one soul was so horribly possible before now.

They worked in heavy silence, Bumblebee's gaze glazing over as he stared at the ceiling.

Prowl was pretty sure Bumblebee was in that state of overcharge that came on with the steady saturation of a certain level of high-grade. Where you weren't quite sure how awake or in stasis you were, and the world became surreal and displaced.

Bumblebee was certainly awake, but the ninja couldn't even begin to know what he was thinking about, his faceplate void of any real emotion.

He hoped that the scout had found some sort of space between memory and thought, something akin to a meditative haven where he didn't process anything of consequence.

Perhaps he WAS remembering things… reviewing times from the institute that had housed him before emancipation.

Prowl still had questions floating around his helm about what it was like, being raised (in a sense, given no physical changes took place for batch mechs) in an institute. What had Bumblebee WANTED to be before he'd left it? Had he always wished to join the elite guard? How long had he spent out before enlisting?

It suddenly occurred to the black and gold mech, to his own shame, that he had never wondered these things before.

Not just that… he hadn't cared. Which had been rather callous of him, especially when observation and self-education where key principles by which he lived.

No. He had dismissed Bumblebee before truly knowing him. He felt a pang of self-disgust to realise it was only after the sub-compact had been through trauma and come so close to off lining that he actually cared enough to be interested.

He opened his mouth to apologise, before closing it again, turning his helm to watch Ratchet's servos at work. It could wait until later, when they were alone. Talking about it in front of the others was too awkward.

Bumblebee had been distracted from his sightless staring, focussing slowly in on Prowl's face above him.

"Sup?"

"Hmm?" Prowl turned back to look at the scout.

"Sup? Y'look worried?" Bumblebee tilted his helm a little, looking searchingly over the ninja-bot's faceplate.

"Oh… it's nothing. Just thinking."

"Well yea… y'r always doing THAT."

Before Prowl could think up an excuse to satisfy the still intently searching gaze of the scout, Wheeljack cut over them.

"OK, that's the major struts and joints in your legs fixed. Reshaped and aligned the grindy hip. Think you're ok to try standing up Bumblebee?"

"Yeeeah why not" He slurred, letting Prowl help him sit up without protest, the engineer swinging his legs carefully over the edge of the berth for him.

Slipping off the berth, Prowl slung Bee's arm around his shoulders to help him stand, the scout hanging his unsteady weight on him, reminding him just how inebriated the small bot was.

Bee tried to pull his own weight with a grunt, making the repaired joints work.

He ex-vented heavily and flinched a little when he moved one, then the other, stepping in place rather than trying to walk.

"Y'know kid, with your legs functional you can get around the rest of the base instead of just being cooped up in here. No going outside I'm afraid, not with so much exposed circuitry. But still… you can go and hang out in the common room if you feel like it, play video games with Sari, watch some TV."

Ratchet suggested encouragingly as Prowl helped the scout test his weight walking on the repairs.

Bumblebee looked up at him, shuttering his optics a couple times. "Huh… I hadn't thought about that… but whadabout… y'know, m' still naked."

Wheeljack waved a servo, "We can fabricate you some temporary panelling to cover you up. Just some light stuff, doesn't need to be high impact gear."

The sub-compact nodded slowly. "OK… sounds good." His optics dilated rather suddenly, Prowl tensing as the scout's weight fell on him, Bumblebee curling over on himself with a low whine.

"Nononono not another one, please not a-hnnnnnnnngh!"
Prowl got him back on the berth as he tensed and shuddered.

The mood dropped with the onset of another purge so soon after his last. Prowl rubbed his back and helped him lean over the barrel they used to catch his regurgitations, the high grade making the purge particularly nasty.

The scout whimpered, bringing up energon before it had even been negatively charged with the expelled energy from his spark.

The rest of the mechs shared distressed looks as Bumblebee lapsed into more than one memory glitch.

Ratchet helped to stop Bumblebee kicking out and hurting himself or Prowl.

Wheeljack moved around to the other side of the berth so he could face Bumblebee, trying to talk him back to reality as he sobbed and pleaded for them not to take him again.

Perceptor, feeling awkwardly useless, gathered up their tools to get them out of the way and cleaned a few. He watched the others furtively though.

It was times like this he wondered if he shouldn't have just left his emotional programming offline.

On the other servo, it may have been even more detrimental to the situation if he had. Bumblebee did not need to be worked on by an intelligent drone, he needed compassionate healers.

But… for all his intelligent he'd never been emotionally smart. Perceptor didn't know how to deal with emotional extremes, so he'd negated the problem by removing them, but the experiment had been such a failure he'd conceded to re-installing them, adding in control parameters to assist him.

Without his emotions, mechs had discounted him and his work, and he knew, ego aside, that he was too valuable an intellect to the Autobots, and couldn't afford to make himself a scientific pariah.

For all his attempts to improve his ability to deal with and understand his and others emotions, he still found himself frustratingly lacking.

If he had not put himself through the procedure, he might have thought Bumblebee a perfect candidate to test it out on.

The sub-compact was being overwhelmed by his emotions to the point of wanting self-termination to escape them.

If he just removed them… it would be so much easier, and yet… he knew that to do that, the scout might as well die. Without his emotions, without being able to feel, he wouldn't be himself. The ghost of a mech in a shell, his team mates wouldn't even know him anymore.

Perceptor stood, watching the scout writhe and plead, lapsed into a memory and convinced those touching him were trying to rape him again, and the irony caused his spark to clench in a sublime sort of feeling he rarely ever experienced… in suffering, the scout lived more truly than he would completely devoid of feeling. The price of keeping himself was his agony.

If he did not feel so saddened by the realisation, he might have written a whole dissertation about it.

But the thought of doing so gave him an empty feeling, and he knew it would simply be one of those internal revelations he would carry in his spark, colouring his view of the world around him without being spoken.

Ironic, that he should find such emotional growth while not even knowing how to feel.

"Nuhh… nnn don'… don't take him… nooo don't… he didn' hurt me… esss fiiiive… dooon't…"

Prowl stirred at the sub-compact's murmuring, reaching out when he registered what Bumblebee was saying.

"Bumblebee… Bee, wake up."

The scout jolted awake, optics flashing with the pale panic of a mech disoriented and not quite caught up with the real world.

He turned to Prowl, optics dimming when his processor kicked in with the necessary information.

"You were talking in your recharge again. More memory purges from the initiation centre." the ninja explained, Bumblebee nodding and dropping his gaze from Prowl's.

"Yeah I… remember… don't know why I keep defragging it…"

"Perhaps it is because we spoke of it? Brought it back to the fore of your mind?" The black and gold mech offered, shifting to prop himself up on one elbow, trying to gauge Bumblebee's expression.

The sub compact made a non committal noise before frowning slightly.

"I was doing that before we talked about it though. I guess… maybe it just stuck in my processor, I don't know."

"It could be related to the things your processor is being blocked from defragging in recharge." Prowl noted gently.

Something in Bumblebee's expression shifted, taking an a low level of anxiety, but he didn't say anything.
There was a brief pause, filled only with the general night-time sounds of the highway's few passing cars. A meagre amount of crickets having a back and forth chirping match and the slight rustle of leaves from Prowl's tree.

"Am I… was there always something wrong with me because… because I got de-sealed too soon?"

Prowl, who'd let his gaze shift to the skylight above them and the quarter moon peeking through, snapped his attention back to the scout.

Pale blue optics met him with a deep seated sort of worry, as if he were finally asking a question he'd swallowed for vorns and wasn't sure he even wanted to know the answer to.

The ninja shifted under that gaze to ground himself and choose his words carefully. He was no expert in this, but he wasn't about to brush a question like that off.

"I do not think, even if it did have a poignant effect on you, that it means there is anything fundamentally wrong with you because of it…" He realised from the tightening of the smaller mech's frown that he was not satisfied with Prowl's answer.

The Black and gold mech cycled air slowly and tried again. "I'm not entirely sure I know what you mean by 'wrong'. But… unless it negatively altered your moral character… unless you feel the need to lash out at other mechs or treat others badly because of it, then no. I do not think it made you 'wrong'. I do think that it… confused you. On a level that no one has been aware of, and so could not help you with."

Bumblebee's optics dimmed slightly and he looked away, seemingly digesting that answer.

"So… so it didn't mess me up."

"That depends. How did you feel about it at the time?" Prowl felt a little guilty, since he was asking just as much for his personal curiosity as to try and help the scout, but he reasoned that at least he was helping… he hoped so, anyway.

"I don't know, I mean… It was my first time. The seal breaking kinda hurt since he didn't really know what he was doing, but the rest… the rest wasn't so bad. We faced, it was clumsy, but we overloaded and it was nice I guess. I'm just glad that he did it and the-"
Bumblebee's vocaliser cut off rather abruptly as he turned away and shuddered.

He didn't want to go there, didn't want to think about that.

"So you don't feel any remorse for it happening?" Prowl asked gently, as much a distraction from Bumblebee's train of thought as a genuine question.

"That's the thing, I don't know… I didn't even know what we were DOING at the time, how can I say if I would have wanted it had I known?" The scout looked anxious again.

"Well, did you particularly like him at the time? Did he force anything on you, or would he have stopped if you asked?" the ninja prodded softly.

Bumblebee considered that rather seriously, but he seemed to settle as he thought it over.

"We were… I mean, everyone there was practically a sibling. Same batch, all living together… he was the mech I was closest to though. We… I don't know, gravitated towards each other. That's what happens, other bots in the batch did that. We were as close as bots without full upgrades and no real idea of who we were could be. I guess… I guess I would have said yes if I knew what it was. And I never thought to tell him to stop, cause I never thought he'd really hurt me, and he didn't."

"Then I do not think, despite the tragic circumstance of him being taken advantage of, that the two of you interfacing prior to having full integration would have any true negative effects on you." The black and gold mech reassured him, and some of the tension of anxiety visibly left the sub-compact's frame.

"I always missed him though. I wanted to know where they took him, if he was coming back, but they wouldn't tell me. They said they were making him feel better and he'd be OK, so I just… accepted it and hoped I'd see him again. I mustn't have ever run into him again, or he would have recognised me and said hi, even if I didn't recognise him."

Prowl nodded, ideas forming, spurred on by the scout's regret. "Perhaps… given you are fully integrated and still care about S5, we can attempt to find him again? There are always records of these things, I'm sure I could… pull a few strings and see what comes up."

Bumblebee gave him a curious, if not tired look. "Pull a few strings?… You know bots who could find that stuff out?"
The ninja nodded, a tiny smile curling the corner of his mouth. "I know ONE bot. You only need to know one when it's Jazz."

"Ooookay. That's your comm unit fixed, give it a go to make sure your reception is good." Ratchet patted Bee's helm gently after closing the cranial casing. The sub-compact nodded and sent out a wide band ping.

That seems to be working normally.

The sound of the medics voice in his helm startled Bumblebee slightly, despite the fact he'd expected it.

Heh. Don't know why, but it feels a bit weird, taking calls through my head again. It's all working right again though.

Ratchet grinned at him and moved to set down his tool.

From the bench against the wall, Wheeljack made a satisfied noise and wandered over with a piece of light, temporary plating he'd been fabricating.

He held it over Bumblebee's chassis and hummed thoughtfully at the fit and look. It was not like his missing chest plates, being neither square, nor including any glass panelling.

"Mmmmm not sure this is gonna work actually. I'm thinking you might be better off with the new armour that already fits, I mean this won't help keep ya warm, it's just a barrier. Might as well just make a blanket poncho or something since you're not going outside for a while."

Bumblebee just blinked up at the engineer owlishly.
"If you say so. I thought I couldn't use the armour yet 'cause my integration panels haven't finished fixing themselves."

"Oh, yes, that's still true. But it's easier to latch them onto you with some magnetic clips than to make a full set of this panelling which wont help regulate your temperature or give you any transmittable readings." The engineer explained, moving to set the plating down and coming back to look over Bumblebee's frame critically.

"Hmmmm. You OK with me doing a check on your transform cog? It'll let me know how close you are to being able to transform again."

"If you want to, go right ahead." Bee gave a slight shrug with his old shoulder, his meta still telling him not to move the new one too much despite the fact it didn't hurt to do so anymore.

Wheeljack set about feeding a small, long tool through a side panel in Bumblebee's chassis, below his arm.

It felt quite bizarre, even moreso when Wheeljack prodded at his transform cog with it, managing to plug the end of it into the readings module for the critical piece of his anatomy.

He hummed thoughtfully again as he got his readings, Bumblebee forcing himself to lie still, resisting the urge to squirm.

"Cog itself is fine, but transforming will take more energy than it's worth given your spark's current condition. Plus, you might still have loose bits of metal stuck in seams that would stall you, so best to leave off it for a while. At least until you're ready to re-attach your armour completely."

"Yeah, well… like you said. I'm not really going anywhere." Bee murmured, pulling a face as the tool was extracted.

Ratchet came back over and helped Bumblebee to sit up, handing him a cube of energon.

"Hmmmmm. You're not gonna like me for saying this Bumblebee, but before they mag-latch any armour on you, I think you ought to have another shower to get rid of the gunk from all the repairs and energon leaks. And you'll hate me even more for suggesting you try to clean out your transformation seams thoroughly in case there is shrapnel the water can remove."

Bumblebee grimaced and hid his face behind the cube, sipping slowly from it.

"On the upside however, you can probably manage it on your own now you can walk and that shoulder is a little broken in. And you can get one of us on comms if you need assistance." He added, trying to make the small bot feel less uncomfortable with the prospect of the inevitable reaction his frame would have to the shower.

Bee only nodded vaguely, trying not to look at either of the bots.
Wheeljack crossed his arms, determined to break the tension around the matter. He had a good insight into Bumblebee's feelings now, and he wasn't going to waste it.

"You're about the only mech your age that looks that grim in the face of getting a couple of overloads in the wash racks. Don't get me wrong, I know why you feel weird about it, but I'm sure you didn't discover what water could do aimed in the right places a loooong time ago."

Wheeljack kept a light edge to his voice, Ratchet throwing him a shrewd look and a half-grin as he realised what he was doing.

Bumblebee looked up at the engineer a little uncertainly. "Uuh… well… yea, I guess…"

Wheeljack took that as a cue to continue.

"You know how you don't seem to think you have the right to keeping secret your personal stuff anymore, that might not be a bad thing in this case. Don't get me wrong, there's a line between being open and being lewd, but why can't bots just share tips on getting a good charge release now and then? I never liked the prudishness around that."

The sub-compact looked up at this, visibly relaxing a little at the candidness of Wheeljack's tone.

"It was always kinda dumb. They didn't like us asking too many questions about interfacing when they gave us the downloads. They just said 'the information in your databanks should be sufficient'. It gave us the mechanics of how a charge is built… but nothing about how to physically, you know… DO it."

The sub-compact frowned slightly.

"Taught yourself though, didn't you? I was lucky, I had a medic to show me the ropes back in my academy days. BOY did that mech know some great tricks."

"Wheeljack, don't go down that path, or he'll never look at me the same way again." Ratchet groused in a pained sort of tone.

"Um… yeah… don't go there. There's a line between open and super awkward." Bee mumbled with the tiniest hint of a grin at the engineer.

Wheeljack chuckled at that. "Well, you probably worked out the benefits of the wash racks pretty quick I guess, since you're a resourceful bot.

Bumblebee made an odd noise of not-quite-disagreement.

"Actually, that one took me a while to realise. I knew wash racks were a good place for it… but I didn't think of actually using the water for a few vorns. Felt kinda dumb when it dawned on me." The scout admitted sheepishly.

The engineer's helm fins flickered blue as he nodded. "Aaaah well. Every bot at their own pace I guess. I can't really act cocky, most of what I know, my friend taught me. Before that I only had a couple basic techniques. Want me to share any?"

"Um… maybe another time. Can't really, y'know, use them for a while. Not sure I want to even think about touching anything to do with interface equipment for a while. Literally or otherwise." Bumblebee muttered, looking into his cube soberly.

"Well, got some doozeys when you're ready. I know you're not keen on thinking about it, but do you think you'll be ready for the replacements anytime soon? You don't have to use them, it'll just be good to get it in and let it integrate and settle." Wheeljack asked gently, not wanting to make the sub-compact feel pressured.

Bumblebee considered it carefully, frame tensing at the very thought of having anyone touch him down there, even to remove the ruined part that plagued him with the memories of their abuse.

After a while he shook his helm. "I'm sorry, I… I can't, I just… I don't…"

"Hey, it's OK. No rush. It's your frame, and you'll know when you're ready." Wheeljack's voice was soft, and he gave Bumblebee's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We don't control your frame, we just fix it. What happens to it is up to you."

Bee made a sceptical noise at that, un-tensing as the prospect of having to let them touch him there was put off.

"Not really. I can't stop it going haywire because of water. I can't control the spark purges, I can't even control my own processor. I don't have any say in what my frame does. Or what happens to it." His voice had turned bitter and he put down the half full cube so his shaking servo wouldn't spill it.

Wheeljack sighed softly and leant down to bring his optics level to Bumblebee's, servo still on the little mech's shoulder, feeling him fight to stop the trembling caused by his emotional flux.

Bumblebee wouldn't look at him, deliberately keeping his glare on his cube, as if blaming it for all his problems.

"Hey, listen… I know you don't believe me when I say this, but you'll get control back. It'll be OK. When you're strong enough, you can take back control. You can learn how to keep it. It's YOUR body, no one else's."

The sub-compact's shaking only got worse, and he shook his helm. The overwhelming feelings of helplessness and self-loathing and fear were welling up, and he felt as if they were strangling his spark.

His vents gasped in cool air, and he couldn't help but bury his faceplate in Wheeljack's shoulder when the engineer drew him into a comforting embrace.

He shook his helm, Wheeljack's words still echoing in his audios, his meta throwing up arguments until his vocaliser disobeyed his order to remain silent and the clicks snuck out between words.

"I can't stop them… I don't want… never, never want it to happen again… but I can't stop them, I'm weak, I'm stupid… can't control myself, cant save myself, can't even… slagging…" He let out a frustrated, pained sound, and all Wheeljack could do was hug him and rub his back.

"I know Bee… I know. I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry… but it wasn't your fault, don't ever think you deserved it, nobody deserves it. You're a GOOD bot, alright? And I know you are, I SAW it. It wasn't your fault."

You know, I was kinda hoping I'd cheer him up enough that the shower didn't bother him so much. This wasn't what I meant to do.

Wheeljack comm'd Ratchet, sharing a helpless sort of look with the medic who had come to stand by the berth and offer Bumblebee as much comfort as he could.

I know. This is probably good for him, as painful as it is. He can't bottle this up. And if you can get him talking about it, relieving it, then he knows he's got support. Maybe… it may just have been a good thing, you touching his spark.

He's less likely to fight you when you say you know he's good, after all if you can tell him that after seeing everything he went through, why would you be lying.

Wheeljack nodded, optics and helm fins dimming slightly as he continued rubbing Bumblebee's back plating as if he were his progenitor. He almost felt like he was, with how strong he found his feelings of protectiveness for the little bot now.

Not to mention he'd had a servo in rebuilding him, and an investment in his life.
He WANTED Bumblebee to pull through, wanted him to recover, wanted to give him the kind of life he deserved.

He might as well just adopt Bee as his own, and he might if he didn't already feel that Ratchet, Prowl, and in fact the whole earth contingent had already made it clear that Bumblebee was an irreplaceable element of their 'family'.

For now, he had a duty. Touching the scout's spark, seeing what he did, feeling that internal cry of desperate need in that small mech, this was why he was there, this was what he needed to be doing.

But Primus be damned if it wasn't hard as pit to see the wounds open up like this, so easily, so raw.

He wondered, probably for the thousandth time now, just how long the road to recovery would be. And then remembered that however long and arduous it felt to them, it was ten times worse for Bumblebee.

Wheeljack dipped his helm to press his Blast mask against Bee's helm, feeling the clicks reverberate into him.
"It's OK… let it out, don't try and push it down, you're safe here, just let it out. We'll make you strong again, and we'll keep you safe, and that's a promise."

Bumblebee sat under the spray, hunched and trembling.

He hated the initial feeling, every sensor hyper aware of the barrage of water. He knew what came next though, and it made him feel sick.

He grabbed a cleaning cloth and quickly went about slewing as much solvent across his frame as he could, the quicker to clean it.

He swallowed the little noises of discomfort as he cleaned himself down a little too roughly. He growled low in his throat tubing, the irony not lost on him.

All I want is for the pain to stop, and then when I'm in danger of feeling pleasure, I seek out the pain again. I really am totally fragged in the head. Well… yea, metaphorically too.

He gave a hollow laugh at his own internal joke. The laugh morphed into a sob as a shudder of pleasure ran down his back.

He scrubbed at his legs, spray hammering down on his shoulders and back, panting as he tried valiantly to just get the cleaning over with so he could get out, but his body betrayed him.

He had to stop, the servo holding the cloth shaking too much to be of any use, other arm threatening to give out and make him curl too far forward, sending agony shooting through his still mutilated midriff sensor-net.

He leant back against the wall and whimpered, the water both causing a wave of stinging pain through said midriff sensors, and then a blinding shiver of pleasure.

He clutched at the washrag, quivering and sobbing as an overload ripped through him. It left him slumped and shaking on the bench, leaning back against the wall.

Slowly gathering his wits, he controlled his soft clicking, and sluggishly returned to the task at hand.

He didn't get very far before another charge had his servos trembling.

Determined not to be so pathetic that he couldn't even wash himself, he reached up to try and get the shower spigot off it's bracket so he could clean out his seams.

Reaching it though proved nigh on impossible, even standing on the bench, without his midriff sensors screaming in agony. Every time he lifted his arm too high, it pulled plating around, tugging at fused micro-filaments in his haptic array.

He made a noise of frustration and tried to grab the spigot quickly and just bear the momentary pain, but when he managed to knock the spigot off it's bracket, the feeling was bad enough to make him double over.

"You OK in there Bee?"

Ratchet had obviously tried not to be too much of a 'mother hen' as Wheeljack had called him, but Bumblebee couldn't blame him for keeping an audio out for him. With how clumsy he was in his ruined body, he figured he was lucky not to have fallen and cracked his processor on the floor.

"Yeah. Fine."

Bumblebee was surprised just how… normal he could make himself sound, when he was unable to move from the paralysing sensations in his sensor net.

He knelt, hunched, hands clawing at the wall as he waited for the ache to dissipate and his head to stop spinning. At least with the spigot dangling and pointing the spray at the wall, he didn't have to deal with the feel of it on his frame.

Once he felt able again, he moved, grabbing the spigot and adjusting the spray with shaking servos and fumbling digits.

He sat gingerly and took a few deep, steadying ventilations. He put one leg straight along the bench before aiming the water into the ankle joint.

He snapped down on a small cry as wonderful sensations exploded from the joint and right up his leg into his back-strut.

Oh come the frag on, that's never been that much of an erogenous zone!

Still determined to complete the task on his own, Bumblebee flushed the joint and moved onto his knee.

He didn't even get past it and to his hip before he had to lay back, gasping for air to cool his frame and settle his engine.
This is STUPID, it's ridiculous, I hate this… why can't I just clean up and get out, why does it have to be so HARD.

He gave a strangled sound of frustration, gritting his denta.

Bumblebee? Ratchet tells me your comms are working again. Did you want any help in there or are you alright on your own now?

Bumblebee sat trembling, charge refusing to dissipate the way it had when he'd gotten the spigot down, and shuttered his optics tightly.

Yeah… yeah, I do… I can't… I just  can't.

He hadn't meant to let so much desperation and frustration leak into his voice, but the first overload had already made him feel lethargic, socket burning the same way as last time.

And now he couldn't point the water into a joint without collapsing at the sensations or having his servo jerk the shower head away.

He didn't even have the energy to care about how pathetic he must look to the black and gold ninja when he walked in, one leg on the bench, the other hanging off the side, servos balled as he heaved air through his system.

Prowl didn't say a word, gently moving Bumblebee to lie on the bench and picking up the spigot.

"Is it the seams you're having trouble with?"

The scout nodded, not opening his optics until he felt a slight pressure on his thigh.

Prowl was bent over his chassis, placing his servo strategically on the bench to trap the leg against the wall without pinning it, before using the other to wash out his knee.

Bumblebee arched and whined, servos scrabbling against the bench beneath him.

Because Prowl was not pinning him down directly, Bumblebee didn't connect the feeling with anything Spittor had done.

He didn't even realise the ninja had cleverly negated triggering him.

Prowl calmly continued, quickly and efficiently flushing out the other leg, pausing momentarily on the last hip when Bumblebee overloaded again, letting out a bark of static.

The ninja gave him a moment to cool off before resting his servo on the golden chest plates over Bumblebee's spark. The scout looked down at it, wondering momentarily why it didn't bother him, before he yelped and grabbed onto Prowl's arm.

Prowl sprayed out his side seams with the same quick efficiency as his legs, briefly getting into the shoulder joints. He let Bumblebee clutch at his arm, it was meant to be something for him to ground himself on, not a way to keep him still.

He pulled Bumblebee up and sat behind him, supporting him with an arm under the scout's. He rested the spigot against the top of Bumblebee's chest so the water slewed down gently through gaps and over the bared midriff lattice.

Bumblebee shivered and pressed weakly back into him to try and escape the sensation that was building a third charge in his systems.

Prowl made sure to get water into the seams around Bumblebee's neck before scooping Bee into his lap to face him.
The small mech rested his forehead on the cycle former's windshield, whole frame trembling, panting heavily.

"Bumblebee… stop fighting it. Just… let it happen. Don't think about it, just feel."

Prowl lifted the scout's helm to look him in the optics with a plaintive expression.

"E-easy… for you to say. I don't want to feel anything… n-not this… I can't… can't take the good when I know the bad comes after…" his voice was laced with static, third charge an odd interplay of aches and sweet tingles all across his frame.

Prowl had the shower head resting against the top of his back, spray washing down his sensors as he panted and clutched Prowls shoulders.

He looked into the black and gold mech's optics, the two of them having a silent battle of wills, and for a moment, and in some weird and out of context way, Bumblebee almost felt like it was back to how they used to be.

The ninja-bot wanted him to do something, and his natural reaction was to resist, because Prowl didn't get it. It wasn't that easy.

It wasn't.

Was it?

Wheeljacks words ran through his helm, even as fuzzy as it was with the overpowering sensations coursing through him.
He was… he was allowed to feel good.

As soon as he thought that, a dozen protesting trains of thought tried to tell him otherwise, but he shut them down because… pit slag it, he'd been over them enough times in his meta that he was tired of them.

He felt… just felt for a moment, and noted that it felt uncomfortable, accepting pleasure, because he'd been conditioned to expect pain as a direct result. As well as shame and disgust and a whole swathe of emotions he did not want to feel.

But then it occurred to him… he didn't have a choice to feel the pain, and he'd accepted it and dealt with it because that was his only option. Why not… why not take the pleasure the same way?

After all, it was the same thing, just at the other end of the scale.

He slumped against Prowl's frame in a silent defeat, feeling the thrum of the ninja's engine teasing at his sensors, keeping his charge on edge, but not enough to push it over.

"Would it be easier to accept feeling good if it came from me, instead of the water?"

Prowl's voice was soft, and even a little unsure, as if he was afraid to ask.

Bumblebee mulled it over momentarily.

On the one servo, he did not think Prowl was at all into him like that. In which case, he was offering because he just wanted to help him somehow.

And on the other servo… that sort of gesture made him wonder why he'd ever disliked Prowl. How could he turn down a bot willing to help him feel good when they didn't even have any sexual interest in him?

Optics over-bright with the charge in his systems, he nodded, letting Prowl pull him against his frame.

The ninja reached up to reseat the shower head in it's bracket, turning it so it didn't wash over them too much.

Bumblebee shivered as gentle servos slid up his back and Prowl pressed his fore helm to Bumblebee's.

"I don't want to trigger you… tell me what you need. Where I can touch." he murmured, and the scout shivered at the tone, not even sure why.

"I… I don't know… w-window… on my chest plate… Spittor never…" He shuttered his optics with a shudder.
Prowl slid a servo between them, tracing the edges of the glass, and Bumblebee gave a soft moan.

He was taking Wheeljacks other advice now. Why get uptight about charge releases? Why be bashful about them around others, especially if they were offering.

And why refuse when it was a mech he trusted implicitly?

Frankly, Prowl was surprised Bumblebee had said yes. A tiny part of him thought that maybe he was taking advantage, given Bumblebee was desperate and his judgement was impaired for the overpowering need for relief.

But he just wanted to see him in that moment again… that one point where the old Bumblebee seemed to come back, the few seconds during release where the pain fell away.

Was it so bad that he wanted to cause that?

Bumblebee gasped and whimpered softly, helm rolling back as Prowl tapped a rhythm across the faux glass plate, other servo teasing along the edges as he squirmed weakly.

He was on the very edge now, and it wasn't even because of the way Prowl was touching him. It was more just… The FACT that Prowl was touching him. Was trying to make him feel good.

And Primus but he hadn't realised how long it had been since another mech had touched him like this.

He didn't care that it wasn't out of interest in him on a relationship level. It still meant something… and apart from that, Prowl was good with his servos.

Working on impulse, and hoping it wasn't pushing things to far, Prowl slipped an arm around Bumblebee's back and leant forward, bringing his helm down to kiss the glass just above Bumblebee's hidden spark.

The effect was instantaneous, Bumblebee chocking out a cry… pleasured, rather than pained, and arched into the contact in overload.

Prowl held him carefully as he trembled and arched. He couldn't see his face, but he could feel the tingle of his spark's EM field as it flared.

Unconsciously, his other servo slid down to stroke the seam of the golden chest plates to prolong the pleasure.
He snuck a look up, and felt a shiver shoot down his backstruts. Even on the tail end of his release, Bumblebee was… weightless was the only word that came to mind.

The stress, anxiety, agony, frustration… absent for a few nanos until he slumped and groaned.

Gently, the black and gold mech leant back, letting Bumblebee rest against his chassis as he recovered.

The scout looked ready to pass out, vents whirring hard, and Prowl nuzzled his helm briefly. He reached out to turn the water off, staying on the bench with Bumblebee until the sub-compact gave some sign that he needed to move.

"That w's… better. You… you let me choose… way better… than water." Bumblebee murmured through the panting of his ventilations.

"It was not too… presumptuous of me I hope?"

"Mmmmno. Was smart. I don't… it's not as bad, accepting it as help… you… thankyou…"

He nuzzled his helm against Prowl's neck sluggishly, since it was the only part of him he had the energy left to move.

"It's alright. I… please don't take this the wrong way, but I like seeing you overload. It's like everything stops, and you're… whole again. You stop thinking and remembering and feeling all the terrible things for a few moments and it makes me feel like… like we can do this. We can make it all better, we can give you back your life."

Bee took in a long ventilation and whirred slightly as he released it. "That's… true. I do stop… having to worry, when it just whites out my sensors. I still don't know why you care so much… but maybe I'll get it, eventually." Bumblebee murmured, shifting slightly and groaning.

"But three makes my socket slagging ache. Don't get used to it."

"Sorry about that. I'll take you back out and Ratchet can put you into recharge for a while to recover." Prowl replied sheepishly.

"You need to tell me… more about your life before space bridge repair. I wanna know where you learnt how to use your servos so well" Bumblebee said quite seriously.

Prowl chuckled. "I guess I owe you some stories, considering how much I've been learning of your own past recently. But first, recharge."

The smaller mech sighed, engine rumbling slightly. "Yeah yeah big brother. And 'Jack says Ratchet's the mother hen. Trust me, I don't feel up to a story before bed right now. Slagging weak spark, chewing up energy like it owns the place." he muttered.

Prowl simply made a noise somewhere between a concerned hum and amusement as he retrieved a towel and began to dry Bumblebee off.

Bulkhead looked nervously down again, as if fearing his moving an inch might hurt his small friend where he'd fallen against him in recharge.

Bumblebee had tested his ability to walk again by making it all the way out to the common room in the middle of the day.

Unfortunately, it seemed even that small effort had taken it out of his weakened spark, and not a breem after sinking onto the couch had he slumped against his large green companion, having lapsed into recharge.

"He's OK right? This isn't a bad thing?" Bulkhead whispered loudly and anxiously to Ratchet, who was slogging back a can of oil.

"For the tenth time Bulkhead, he's fine. It's gonna take a while for him to build back up a normal amount of stamina. Plus he's not used to the weight of armour again yet, I'm surprised he got all the way out here actually."

"Hey guuuuys you miss us? Of course you did. Anything interesting happen while we were gone?"

Sideswipe strolled into the common area after rolling in with his brother and transforming smoothly without slowing.
Sunstreaker had to stop to let his passenger out before he unfolded himself, scowling heartily at the smear of dried, sticky fluid on his hood.

Sari pat his leg in consolation. "Don't worry Sunstreaker, I'll get a bucket and some soapy water and you'll be slurpey-free again in no time."

The golden mech grumbled something about 'lousy stinking human newsparks' and would have stomped off, except Sideswipe had noticed something odd about the atmosphere, which made him pause to hang around and see what was up.

"I take it patrol was fun. Sari, glad you're back, unfortunately you're a little late." Ratchet said conversationally, which piqued the half-human to something being different straight away.

"What, what is it? Is it Bee? What happened?" She trotted over closer, giving him an apprehensive look, but he just nodded at Bulkhead.

Turning on the spot, she blinked quizzically at the green, sheepish mech before the yellow caught her optic.
"Oh! Beeee!"

She ran at the couch, promptly stopping herself short from throwing herself on him and flinching slightly at the loud shushing Bulkhead gave her.

"Bulkhead, trust me, she ain't gonna wake him right now no matter how loud she is. His spark isn't powering him up again for at least another quarter of a cycle." Ratchet rumbled mildly. "Although, Sari, given what happened last time you touched him… I know you wanna hug him, but it's probably best you don't, just for now."

The lithe girl nodded sadly, kneeling and folding her arms on the edge of the couch, resting her head with a sigh to watch her friend's faceplate as he 'slept'. She knew it wasn't exactly the same as sleeping, but she could never help but think of it that way.

"What happened last time you touched him?" Sideswipe leant over the back of the lounge curiously, peering down at the bot.

Even with his armour on, he seemed so tiny to the guardsmech.

He'd seemed small in the vid files, sure, but… against Decepticons most Autobots were scaled down. Even among his own kind, Bumblebee was diminutive.

"I can do this thing, since my upgrade… If I touch something electronic that's broken, I can… FEEL how to fix it. Even if I don't know how it works, I know how to fix it, or, well… my brain or… processor does, or something."

"Ssssoooo, what happened when you touched him?" Sunstreaker came up beside his brother, looking between the girl and the unconscious sub-compact, who looked sort of peaceful with his helm resting on the large green mech's leg.

"I… um, well, I didn't know how to fix him. I just… felt some of what he was feeling." Sari explained in a subdued tone.

"Oh… oh, yeah, OK… definitely no touching him for a while then. Sorry little S." Sideswipe murmured, reaching over to pat her on the head as a kind of comfort gesture.

She didn't mind, having gauged by now that while Sideswipe was awkward, he always meant well.

"Was he always this small? Seriously?" Sunstreaker piped up, leaning down and tilting his helm to look at the mech, noticing up close that beneath the armour, in the places that hadn't been covered with static bandage, the protoform showed signs of heavy damage.

Sunstreaker was not a sympathetic mech by nature, but he couldn't help feeling a tiny tug at his spark. It certainly reminded him why he respected the scout.

"Yea, he was always that small. We roussed on him for it, but he gave as good as he got." Bulkhead answered with a fond grin.
Although the gold mech couldn't be sure if that was his mouth or just his jaw-line.

He felt like he should have words with whoever designed the bulky mech's frame. They'd broken enough aesthetic laws Sunstreaker figured it warranted arrest.

"Ratchet, there you are. Where is- Oh. Testing the leg repairs. Wait… I didn't think he could recharge without you initiating it with the uplink equipment?" Prowl wandered in, seemingly trying and failing not to look anxious since he'd gone to the med bay only to find it totally empty.

"Yea, that WAS the case, but Wheeljack realised it would be better for him to have a remote uplink so he could do it himself outside of the med-bay. Perceptor managed to whip up a chip real quick, so now he's fine to drop wherever he wants. He might seem a bit narcoleptic for a while."

"Should we buy a bunch of mattresses and scatter them around the base for him to collapse on?" Sideswipe piped up, making Sari snort.

"That… might not be a bad idea, but Bumblebee isn't a fussy sleeper." the girl responded.

"I'll say. I came out here once and found him upside down on this couch with his head hanging off the seat and his legs over the back and he was out like a light, snoring through a half shuttered vent. And then one time in Boot camp, he fell off his bunk in recharge and didn't even online." Bulkhead rumbled with fond amusement.

"My god Sideswipe, we've found your kindred spirit." Sunstreaker snickered at his brother, Sideswipe poking his glossa out at him in retaliation.

"We don't need no rules, we're rebels without a berth, you can't keep us down! We recharge as unhorizontally as we want."

Bulkhead and Sari both tried to stifle their laughter, but to no avail.

There was a dull clang as Bumblebee startled out of recharge at Bulkhead's shaking and tried, in a panic, to flatten himself to the back of the couch.

"Whoa whoa, I thought you said he couldn't wake up for another two breems." Sideswipe backed up when he saw the pale, panicked optics that snapped up to him where he'd been leaning over the back of the couch.

Ratchet sighed and strode over to kneel in front of the sub-compact beside Sari, who had fallen backwards on her aft, as startled as Bumblebee.

"Yea, that might have been a hopeful estimate. His systems don't function like they should. He's been breaking medical rules-of-thumb left, right and centre."

The sound of Ratchet's voice snapped Bumblebee out of his alarm. He still remained pressed against the back of the couch, optics shuttering rapidly as they dimmed. "W-what… where am I…"

"It's alright kid, you're in the main room. Just relax and let your memory core reboot."

"You walked in and fell asleep on me little buddy." Bulkhead explained calmly, grinning down at him and trying not to grimace in concern.

"Fell… asleep… wait, but I… I didn't use the codes, I just… I did fall asleep. Without them. Ratchet, I just went into recharge…" Bumblebee stared at the medic, looking both surprised and slightly apprehensive.

"Well that's a GOOD thing. Your base coding is readjusting. It's fixing itself."
Just make sure to use it if you don't want dreams. It'll automatically block memory purges, but only initiating it for recharge stops the dreams.

Ratchet gave him a meaningful look, and Bumblebee just nodded, still slightly dazed. Slowly, he dragged himself into a sitting position, leaning back into the corner of the lounge opposite Bulkhead and looking around warily.

He was calmed slightly when Prowl appeared at his side, squeezing his shoulder briefly.

"Bee?"

The tentative, familiar voice drew his attention down, and he found himself even less anxious.

"Hey, Sari… Sorry, that… probably freaked you out a bit." He muttered quietly, shifting his legs to allow her room to sit next to him.

She glanced at Ratchet, as if needing his permission, and he just gave her an expectant nod.

"Not as much as you were freaked out. Sorry we woke you up." She responded sheepishly as she hopped up on the couch and sat beside him with her legs stretched out in front of her. "How… how are you feeling?"

Bumblebee tried to give her a grin, but the half curl of his mouth was not much more than a slightly confused quirk.

"Um. Tired. Always tired… but… better."

He glanced at her and away again, feeling bizarrely out of place in his own base.

"That's great though! I mean… walking again must be good? You can hang out with us some more when you want. And don't worry about being tired. We're gonna get you a whole bunch of mattresses so you can sleep anywhere."

He tilted his helm at her, expression completely confused now, and Ratchet gave a small chuckle. The medic caught him up quickly on what they had been discussing before he woke up, explaining Sideswipe's idea.

The notion seemed to amuse Bumblebee, though he wasn't sure he was happy about being temporarily narcoleptic.

"I told 'em you could sleep anywhere though. Remember that time you nodded off here playing that new video game?" Bulkhead added.

Bumblebee nodded, looking slightly nostalgic at the memory.

"Yeah… probably true, I don't really mind what I recharge on… but for the sake of my repairs, I'm not recharging upside-down."

"Damn straight you're not, I'm not having you misalign that hip gimble when we just got done fixing it." Ratchet rumbled with a grin.

"Oh, Bee! You haven't met Sides and Sunstreaker yet! Guys come over here, he's not gonna bite you." Sari piped up, waving a hand up over the couch back to beckon them closer.

Bumblebee turned his helm and found he had to look a fair way up from his position to meet their optics.

The first thing to strike him was their bold paint jobs. Not just regular paint, but very well cared for metallics. Something you only got if you had the substantial credits to upkeep it.

Other than this detail, they looked like any picture-perfect poster mechs for the elite guard.
Feeling slightly intimidated, he only managed to mumble out a 'hi.'

"Hey, don't worry, we don't bite either. Well… not in mixed company." The red one grinned roguishly, winking at him.

"Thaaat's Sideswipe. And he's always like that. His twin brother is Sunstreaker, and don't worry if he seems quiet and frowny, that's his happy face." Sari introduced them rather informally.

Bumblebee didn't think Sunstreaker looked particularly frowny, just… reserved. He even gave Bumblebee a half grin and held out his servo.

The sub-compact shook it tentatively, doing the same to Sideswipe's offered servo, the bot grinning in what he could only describe as a charming way at him.

"You might be famous, but don't worry. Me and Sunny are still gonna beat your speeding ticket record."

"Heh, okay… I don't know about famous…" He mumbled back sheepishly, trying not to feel unsettled by the strangely unfamiliar bots.

"Yea, half of Cybertron probably knows you by now." Sunstreaker added thoughtfully.

Bumblebee frowned in confusion at that.
"Wait, what?"

"Oh, uuuh… guys, I think we were meant to WAIT to tell him that when he wasn't… uhhh… when he was feeling better." Bulkhead rumbled, sounding slightly guilty.

"Technically, he is? He said he was better." Sari offered, giving Bumblebee an apologetic look.

The sub-compact looked between a bewildered Ratchet and Prowl, and then a sheepish Bulkhead and Sari.

"Guys? what are they talking about?"

"That video of you kicking Con aft went viral! It wasn't us though, we only found out we were coming to Earth AFTER it got out." Sideswipe explained with a shrug.

"It was all Rodimus Prime's fault." Sunstreaker drawled.

"What exactly was my fault?"

The twins turned identical innocent looks to the red and orange, flame painted Prime as he strolled in from his own patrol with Ironhide.

"I'd like to know what the SLAG you were doing with the footage for one." Ratchet growled, standing and making his way over to meet the prime half way.

Rodimus stopped, looking apprehensive, and just a little scared of the resident medic as he loomed over him, glaring expectantly.

"Uuuuh footage? What footage? Oh, OOOOH wait, THAT! Riiight right… uuuuuhm… it was an accident?" He gave Ratchet what he hoped was a winning smile, but it seemed to have no effect.

"You ACCIDENTALLY spread CONFIDENTIAL footage to the public WITHOUT the consent of the mech IN the footage? How EXACTLY did you earn the rank of Prime?"

Ironhide stood just behind his team leader, biting his glossa and trying not to laugh.

He knew that the medic, a living legend in his own right, had a very good and serious point. But the look on Rodimus' face nearly had him losing it.

"Why am I famous for failing?"

Bumblebee had murmured it more to himself, sinking down in his seat when most of the optics in the room shifted to him looking puzzled.

"You aren't famous for failing, you're the people's slagging hero!" Ironhide said proudly, stomping over to greet his ex-boot camp acquaintance.

His grin faltered when he noticed Bumblebee drawing himself in defensively at his approach.

"It's good to see you again Bee. How you holdin' up?" Ironhide pressed on valiantly, grin spreading wide again as he looked the smaller mech over critically, noticing much of what Sunstreaker had.

His attitude was however, it seemed, not as well received as he'd hoped.

"Oh, OK. You like me now. Guess you don't remember the last thing you said to me. Something about wanting to slag my axles when they took Wasp into custody." Bumblebee murmured coldly, position wholly defensive now, as if expecting an attack from the large, rust coloured mech.

Ironhide took a step back and looked rightfully abashed. "Aw, well… gee Bumblebee, it's been a long time. I didn't really mean it, I was just hot in the head, y'know? He was my friend. Longer I thought about it, more I realised I was angry at him for deceiving us, not you."

Something painful passed over the minibot's faceplate and he looked guilty.
"Yeah… well, you can be angry with me again. It wasn't Wasp. It was Longarm."

"Whoa whoa, wait, what? Are you crazy? Longarm Prime, a spy?" Rodimus piped up from where he and Ratchet had frozen in place to watch the conversation between Bumblebee and Ironhide unfold.

"He ain't anything like as crazy as you! Bumblebee's the only eye witness who can vouch for the fact Longarm is Shockwave masquerading as an Autobot! Which reminds me, we need to be getting onto Cybertron central command about that." Ratchet growled, making Rodimus cringe slightly

Bumblebee had flinched as if a gun had been fired at the mention of his name.
Prowl had placed a supporting servo on his shoulder in response.

"But… he was in his office when we left Cybertron? Are you absolutely SURE? He probably got the video sent to him, if he knew Bumblebee was here wouldn't he have, you know… come here?"

Rodimus looked over at Bumblebee, expression changing when he noticed the sub-compact was visibly trembling.

"Bee?" Sari, sitting right next to him, had noticed it as well, but she daren't touch him to get his attention.

Prowl shot a glare in the red Prime's direction.

"You have no idea what you've done."

"He knows."

His voice cracked with fear. Bumblebee's intakes had begun hyper-ventilating, optics paling as he went into a full blown panic attack.

"He knows I'm alive and he's going to come back and… no…no, I-I can't-"

His voice was thready and panicked, and he pressed back against Prowl, servos clutching so hard against the back and arm of the couch his servo mechanisms squealed.

Ratchet moved swiftly to the scout, ignoring the other, bewildered mechs who darted out of his way.

"NO. NO, he won't, Bumblebee we promised to protect you, and we WILL. We're gonna get him. One call to Jazz and they'll move special operations in on him and get him."

He put his servos on Bumblebee's, gently trying to pry them off the concrete slabs.

"But he RUNS special operations!"

Prowl was unsure what to do. Bumblebee almost sounded like a different mech… he'd never seen him this afraid.

Bulkhead scooped Sari up, watching in alarm as Bumblebee shook his helm, engine making horrible sounds as fight or flight locked the scout's frame.

"W-what's the deal? What am I missing here?" Rodimus put up his servos. "What does the video of him fighting those Decepticons have to do with Longarm being a Decepticon spy?"

"Because he WAS here. And he tried to kill Bumblebee when they had him. And now your slagging IDIOCY has informed him that his plan did NOT work, and the one mech who can blow the whistle on him is still alive." Prowl snarled.

Bumblebee moved rather suddenly, the flight part kicking in.

His body however, was not ready for such sudden, drastic motion, and he only got five strides before staggering into the wall and falling to his knees.

Servos clutching at the wall, he purged his tank, Prowl with him a nanoklik later to stop him from collapsing.

He gave a shuddering keen of fear, clinging onto the black and gold mech as Prowl slung one of his arms over his shoulders and helped him stagger back towards the med bay.

Ratchet made to follow them, pausing to glare at the red Prime.

"I don't know how you got your servos on that file, but I swear to whatever slagging deity that likes to play cruel-aft jokes on that poor kid that if Shockwave comes back here trying to finish him off it will be YOUR aft on the front line to defend him."

"I think you really fragged up this time, sir." Sunstreaker said somewhat solemnly, patting him on the shoulder, passing him as he and Sideswipe followed a rather shell-shocked and distraught looking Bulkhead and Sari out of the room.

"No one's said it, but I think you're expected to clean that up." Sideswipe added as he left, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the freshly purged energon.

Rodimus watched them leave, feeling helpless.

Ironhide crossed his arms and wandered over to his leader.

"For what it's worth… I don't think I woulda thought this would happen if I'd sent that video 'round neither. But it looks like you goofed big-time Roddy. I ain't seen Bumblebee like that… ever. Not even when he was flailin' around in simulated combat."

"I wouldn't have done it if I'd thought it was THAT confidential. Wheeljack and Perceptor don't usually hold confidential footage. I'd never spread their work documentation around, but I…" The red Prime slumped where he stood, looking anxious. "Slaggit, in retrospect, I feel like a total fragging idiot. I gotta fix this somehow."

Ironhide gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"Well… I'm not sure I can help you figure out what to do there. But I'll tell you one thing, you'll wanna get some turpentine for that energon, or it'll stain the floor."

Chapter Text

"Bee you need to calm down, your spark isn't gonna take this much stress this quickly, you might bring on flares."

Ratchet rubbed circles over Bumblebee's back, Prowl having scooped him onto his lap on the med berth to try and sooth his shaking, but no words or comfort had been able to bring him down.

He trembled, engine strangled by vents half-closed in an auto-defense mechanism. Wide, pale optics wouldn't focus on anything for longer than a klik at a time.

He was shutting down mentally, unable to see beyond the fear.

"Bee, if you don't settle down I'm going to have to force you into stasis. I don't want to, but you're not giving me much choice here." The medic's voice was low and heavy with concern.

It had been half a cycle and the mini was no nearer it seemed to calming himself.

All Bumblebee could think about was that cold, slitted red optic bearing down on him. That spike tearing into him. Those claws slicing him apart. Worst of all, leaving him alive to deal with it.

It was not the fact Shockwave wanted him dead that scared him. It was the thought he would attempt it again.

Whether or not he succeeded wasn't an issue in his mind, it was more a case of not wanting to go through that again. EVER. And the panic that took hold of him when he thought it was going to all repeat was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

All encompassing, blinding him, pushing every other thought out of his mind until he was trapped in a mental loop with nothing but the intense fear.

The door was nearly flung open and Wheeljack raced in, looking like a parent whose child had been hurt in their absence.

"Ratchet, they told me what happened… Sideswipe comm'd me. Bumblebee I am so sorry, this is our fault, we shouldn't have just left those files up on our console-"

The scout shuddered and made a distressed sound. "He's going to find me and he's going to do it again, I can't take it, please, don't let him get me again."

"Shhh sh sh, it's alright. Look at me, Bee, look… that's it… listen to me… he's not going to touch you, alright? You can fight him. We are not going to leave you defenseless."

"How? I can't do anything to stop him."

"We'll find a way. I'm an inventor, it's what I do, I'll make something for you to defend yourself with, but right now you have to trust us to protect you. It's going to be OK."

Wheeljack was slightly hurt by Bumblebee's clear problem with actually trusting him, but he didn't blame him.

"Bee, look… I know… I know what he did to you, I saw it, and I felt what you felt, and I swear to Pri-… I swear on my own spark I will not let you feel that again."

Wheeljack brushed his thumbs down the sides of Bumblebee's helm, but the scout's trembling did not abate, and the only answer to his promise was Bumblebee shuttering his optics.

Despite the conscious effort to stop the negative loop of thought feeding his fear, Bumblebee just couldn't find some peace of mind to sooth the anxiety.

"I'm sorry Bee, I gotta shut you down before you hurt yourself." Ratchet sounded as if it caused him physical pain to override the scout's systems, but a moment later the sub-compact slumped, limp in Prowl's hold.

The ninja carefully cradled him, looking between the offline, slack faceplate and the medic.

"Isn't he going to go straight back into a panic when he onlines?" Prowl asked warily.

"Not if we have something to distract him with, but we've only got two cycles to find it. I'm loathe to leave him under for longer since I had to force it on him." Ratchet sighed as he went about attaching some monitoring lines to the scout.

Wheeljack made a thoughtful noise. "I think we should do more repairs. Start on his arms and replace the integrating circuits so he can run his stingers again. They're only so effective as weapons, but he knows how to use them and it's better than nothing."

"We need to contact Cybertron as soon as possible about Shockwave. Primus damnit, I can't believe I forgot about it." Ratchet growled at himself.

"To be fair, you've had enough on your processor just keeping Bumblebee functional and easing his suffering. I think Optimus is probably better off being the one to speak with Autobot command. We should probably call him and explain what's happened." Prowl said softly, making it clear by body language alone that he had no plans to leave Bumblebee alone for a while, even in forced stasis.

When Bumblebee did online, it was not for long. He was allowed to online after two cycles, and spent half a cycle withdrawn and quiet before putting himself back into a dreamless sleep without a word to any of them.

Prowl only moved to lay him on the berth properly and unburden him of the bulky armor in his short stint online.

The base was quiet and subdued again come night-time, and Prowl, as per usual, recharged beside Bumblebee.

He was woken in the early hours. It took him a moment to realize it was neither the sound of the rain, nor Bumblebee's voice that had woken him.

The sub-compact was, for some reason, pressed close to his back between his booster jets. And when he roused properly from recharge at this realization, he also noticed just how cold the smaller mech felt against him.

Not wanting to startle Bumblebee from recharge, he craned his neck around and saw that the scout had kicked off the sheet that usually kept too much heat from escaping his bare protoform.

It was not within his reach without moving, and it was clear from the press of chill metal behind him that Bumblebee was not leeching enough heat from his own rather efficient systems. It took a little deliberating before he realized there was an easy solution to his problem.

Concentrating, the black and gold mech modulated his vocalizer to the practiced frequency and felt the oscillation of energy flow through him in harmony with the note.

Allowing it to fill him, he reached out with it, narrowing his entire focus on himself, and then on the tarp on the floor.

Very slowly, it raised upwards and over them. That was about the time Prowl realized Bumblebee was pressing against him even harder, and… purring?

With the loss of concentration, the sheet fluttered down onto them both rather suddenly, but its placement was good enough that Prowl didn't have to adjust it much to be sure it was covering Bumblebee.

The smaller mech's engine wound down a few astroseconds after he'd ceased his vocal modulations, but curious about the reaction, Prowl started up a gentle hum again, channeling his energy.

Once more, the response from the still offline scout was a purring of his engine and a press into his back.

Prowl kept it up until he felt that Bumblebee was sufficiently warmed up again, musing on why the small mech, who had always scoffed at the effectiveness of the technique, seemed to like it so much unconsciously.

Perhaps he would have to ask Jazz if processor over matter had applications he was unaware of thanks to the abrupt and incomplete end to his training.

He would have to ask when the communications to Cybertron worked again.

Normally, he loved rain. It was a beautiful and soothing phenomena. Cleansing and life-giving to organics, and a mere entertainment to Cybertronians who usually only used water to wash or dilute things.

It still amazed him that Earth and everything on it were so utterly dependent on this element that was somewhat pedestrian to Cybertronians.

Unfortunately, coming from a planet which did not experience weather systems including water clogging the atmosphere and falling to the surface, their technology, advanced as it was, had not been built with rain in mind.

It worried him that they could not tell anyone on Cybertron the danger still in their midst. It also meant they were not contactable either, and so could not be warned of off-planet dangers headed their way.

So as much as he liked rain, he was praying for it to end and clear away soon.

He sighed softly, trying not to go into recharge mulling over his anxieties. His last conscious process was how much he actually liked the comforting feel of Bumblebee's engine humming away gently against his back.

Bumblebee was slightly confused when he onlined. He was extremely close to back-plating that he realized, after wracking his processor, was Prowl's.

He had not gone into recharge like this. He also noticed that the micro-fiber blanket was over the both of them, but why would Prowl be cold?

Deciding it was too soon after waking to be dealing with this many questions, he simply lay there enjoying the warmth and gentle hum of the black and gold mech.

He really hoped Prowl didn't mind. He found he quite liked having another bot to recharge against. He felt… safer, calmer, and right now a lot warmer, which had been more of a background discomfort to him as of late. He only tended to notice just how cold his frame got without armor when he was warm again.

"Did you recharge alright Bumblebee?"

The small bot gave a jerk of surprise when Prowl spoke. "How do you do that? I thought you were still in stasis." He murmured sheepishly.

Prowl chuckled softly. "Habit."

"So… um… did I miss something, last night?... I don't remember going into recharge like this. Not that it's not OK, I just… feel like there's a gap in my memory that might explain it." Bumblebee murmured.

"Well, yes and no… I lay you down properly, but you wouldn't have remembered when you ended up kicking the tarp off yourself. You were cold, hence ending up trying to draw heat from my systems. I managed to get the tarp back without waking you."

"Oh. Sorry, did you want me to um… move?"

"Not if you are comfortable. At least not yet, I don't have anywhere to be, after all. And you have not answered my question." Prowl answered lightly, feeling a little odd speaking to Bumblebee without facing him.

He tried to look over his shoulder at the scout, but he was flush against his back, so all he could see was the side of his helm.

"Question?… Oh… um, yea, I guess. Memory purges from Boot-camp. Don't really feel like I rested much… how long was I out?"

Prowl did some quick sums in his helm and made a thoughtful noise. "About 20 hours, give or take half an hour. It should have given your self-repair systems a good chance to continue sensor net recovery."

Bee shifted slightly and huffed his vents against the back of Prowl's neck cables, prompting Prowl to roll over to face the sub-compact.

"I feel stiff. Sore when I move, but if I'm still I'm OK." Bumblebee murmured, glancing up at Prowl's visor before looking away, pretending to focus on one of the black and gold thruster casings.

"Well, I don't think you need to move much. You may be able to walk around the base, but you aren't required to. You may have to do some stretches, just to keep your cables from kinking and keep your joints lubricated." Prowl answered quietly, Bumblebee responding with a sigh and a nod.

The ninja wanted to ask if he was alright… if he was going to be alright with the stress of Shockwave's possible return, but he knew asking would bring it up. And making Bumblebee think about it could be the worst thing to do.

In all likelihood, he was doing his best NOT to think about it. Which, considering another panic attack would mean even more discomforting recharge, was probably not a very good idea.

The best thing for Bumblebee then, he thought, was a distraction.

No sooner had he thought it, than the medbay door slid open and three mechs marched in with purpose.
Bumblebee peered over Prowl's shoulder before the black and gold mech slipped out from under the tarp and sat up.

Bumblebee immediately missed the extra heat and the slight buzz of the ninja's EM field against his own. But it looked like Ratchet, Wheeljack and Perceptor were ready and raring to get back to repairs, and Prowl couldn't keep him warm when they needed to get to work on him.

He talked about it with you yet?

Ratchet's comm wasn't unexpected by Prowl, but the anxiety in his voice was.

No. I think he may be avoiding thinking about it, so I thought distractions were for the best.

Ratchet nodded, helping the others unpack the various gear they'd brought. A lot of shiny new circuit boards and armor interface panels were lain out, as well as some proto-alloy.

"We're gonna fix your arms as much as we can today Bumblebee. It won't hurt, I can use my EMP to numb the nodes we're working on."

Bumblebee just nodded at the medic and slid his arms out from under the blanket so they could reach them.

As they got to work, Bumblebee felt like he should continue his conversation with Prowl, not wanting to let his mind wander into the dark places at the edge of his consciousness that he could feel waiting to consume him if he gave them a nanoklik to do so.

He felt awkward about talking with Prowl and not the others, but… the things he wanted to talk about he wasn't sure were open forum topics. Then he remembered he had a working comm.

Hey, Prowl… you said you were going to tell me about what you used to do… y'know, before you were a ninja and stuff. If there was such a time.

Prowl, who had perched himself up at the head of the berth to Bee's right, looked down at him with a shutter of his optics.

Oh yes, I did promise you that. And yes… believe it or not, I was a regular, undisciplined mech for longer than I've been a cyber-ninja.

You? A regular bot? Not likely. Bee teased with the tiniest trace of a grin. He turned to watch Ratchet as his left arm was straightened out diagonal from his body and the medic pulsed his EMP against his shoulder.

The whole limb felt numb, like it was just a cloud of fuzzy feedback attached to his body.

Well, yes. Painfully normal. I had a carrier and a sparker, and I was raised in Praxus.

Unfortunately, they were both extinguished when I was in my third frame. That's why I'm in this standard model, I couldn't afford anything custom by the time I reached maturity, I'd spent what my progenitors left me on staying housed, fuelled and educated.

As Prowl spoke, he noted Bumblebee watching him with concentrated attention, something he wasn't actually used to receiving from the scout.

He watched the repairs as he spoke, Ratchet and Wheeljack throwing him calm looks telling him they knew that he was talking to Bumblebee privately, and they would not interrupt.

So… how does that work? I mean, what's it like? The whole… being a sparkling thing?

Bumblebee asked curiously.

Well… I was a little like Sari in some respects. It's… somewhat frustrating actually. Frame upgrades were always what you look forward to most. Being bigger, faster, and being able to transform, that was the REALLY exciting one. I always wanted to be a two wheel vehicle. I thought, at the time… and, I admit, a little bit now, that two wheeled vehicles were much more…  bad-aft.

Bumblebee snorted out loud, making Wheeljack startle slightly, the engineer thinking he might have done something to hurt him while removing cracked and warped proto plating from the upper arm.

"Sorry Wheeljack… just something Prowl said." the scout explained sheepishly.

Seriously though Prowl, I admit, I always thought two wheelers were kinda bad-aft too.

The black and gold mech quirked a smile at him. Why thankyou. In any case, I was lucky that's what I wanted, because they were cheaper frames than sports vehicles. Apart from that… I was a rather rebellious mech in my youth. Not so much when my progenitors were alive, but certainly once I started work and got involved in political rallies and demonstrations.

YOU were an activist? Seriously? Those mechs that spray painted all over the council chambers and flew those 'down with the establishment' flags from enforcer bases?

Bumblebee's look of interest had turned to disbelieving awe.

Prowl couldn't help but smile at that. Yes, I was. And I have a misdemeanour record to prove it. However, I probably wasn't doing any of that while you were integrated, we were much more active near the end of the war.

Always figured you were older than me, but I didn't know you were alive when the war was on.

Bee tilted his helm, clearly trying to wheedle Prowl's exact age out of him, but the ninja didn't mind.

Yes, I was an adult for all of two vorns before it ended. In that time though, they had conscriptions going, and I was a dodger. The lithe mech explained, idly tracing the integration circuits on the scout's helm, Bumblebee seeming to relax with idle contact.

Wait… conscription?… OH, yeah, conscription! Why'd you dodge? I mean, I know activists were against the war… which I never understood, since y'know… DECEPTICONS. You don't fight them and they take over, and then everyone's screwed. But yea, you fight so well, and you never hesitated to kick aft since I've known you.

I fight well now because I've been trained. Before I was sent to the dojo, I was… lost, is the only way to put it. I was young, angry, and essentially alone. The thought of being sent to fight only to die with no one around who would care was… an idea that scared me. My progenitors died fighting that war.

So I ran. And I was good at it too, none of the elite guard could catch me, they had to send the ninja corps out to track me down. When they got me, Yoketron requested to take me in for training.

Yoketron was your teacher right? Bumblebee tipped his helm back to look up at the black and gold mech.

The expression Prowl wore was a mixture of fondness and regret. My teacher. My mentor. And… I suppose, in many ways, my saviour. He was not… gentle, exactly. Certainly not at first, he was strict, he quite literally kicked my aft into shape. But he thought I was worth something, and he cared about what happened to me.

Bumblebee's optics flickered slightly. His mind brought up parallels to when he'd first started to accept Bulkhead as his friend. He'd resisted, passing judgment, making it hard for the other bot… but eventually he'd realized that Bulkhead was dead set on caring about him. And the attention… well, it'd felt pretty nice, to have someone who cared for the sake of just liking who he was.

He supposed it had been a similar feeling for Prowl, wandering around with his guard up, chased around by bots who didn't care about him wanting him to lay down his life for them. And then he'd run into Yoketron, who'd actually given a slag about him.

So… what happened to him? Where is he now?

Bumblebee wondered if he should have asked when the ninja-bot's visor dimmed and he bowed his helm.

He was murdered. That's why I never completed my training. I was close, but not close enough. That's why Jazz has been trying to help me fill in the blanks whenever he's been on earth. He DID complete his training. I was lost again by the time I came across you and the others, I was trying to complete the last task Yoketron gave me.

The scout looked up at Prowl intently, trying to read into his now somewhat closed off expression.

What was it?... The task, I mean

Prowl's face betrayed a little of his apprehension at revealing his mission. Technically, he was still trying to complete it. Hadn't stopped since Yoketron's death, but he didn't think Bumblebee would understand it any more than he did initially. All the same, he decided he'd tell him.

He told me to go on a quest to find my spark.

Bumblebee gave him a blank look.

… Really?... What did he mean by that?

Prowl couldn't help a tiny smile at the bewildered tone.

I wasn't sure myself at first. I'm still not sure now. I left to start the quest and eventually returned to ask him the same thing, but that's when I found him… I tried to save him, but it was not to be. I'm still trying to find out. Jazz won't tell me, he says the whole point is for me to work it out myself.

Bee gave him an apologetic look.

I'm really sorry, I don't want to insult him since he sounds like he meant a lot to you… but that seems really dumb to me. And not really very helpful for you. How did you learn anything with him, were all his lessons like that?

Prowl smiled down at the scout, mostly because it was such a Bumblebee thing to say, which made it feel like the little mech was coming back to himself.

It's hard for outsiders to understand how these sorts of lessons work. Especially when you haven't gone through the rest of the training. It's not all like that. Remember how I told you that meditation was key to a good foundation in metallikato?

Bumblebee nodded. The things Prowl had been trying to teach him… only about three or four weeks ago (he couldn't remember, his chronometer had gone through too many glitches) seemed as if it had been a lifetime ago. But he remembered.

I still don't get why.

Prowl shifted and stopped the absent minding tracing of the lines on the sub-compact's helm to poke his nasal ridge.

Because to fully appreciate the way that energy flows through your frame when you perform metallikato, or any form of martial art, you need to be in tune with your internal energy in a resting state. That's what meditation is. You rest your frame so you can concentrate on nothing but the feeling of energy coursing through you, from you, into you, out of you… once you know what that feels like, you know when your technique is working or not.

The yellow mech stared at him intently for a few moments, the black and gold mech feeling slightly discomforted by the intensity of the gaze.

…How come I understand exactly what you mean by that now and I didn't before?

Prowl blinked at him a moment before his expression softened into a sad sort of understanding. His servos slid beneath Bumblebee's helm and he rubbed slow circles over the sides of his head, noting how the scout's optics dimmed.

You've been forced to become much more attuned to your body by your ordeal. You've felt things no bot should ever have to feel, but… you can use that to help you. You already know how to track energy flowing through you. Your body is prone a lot of the time while you recover, your thoughts are introspective. You never used to have a reason to stay so still before, but now you can USE that. You can turn it to your advantage. When you feel well enough, I think we can begin your training again.

Bumblebee gave him a considering look before nodding.

I'd like that. A lot. If I can fight… PROPERLY fight, not the stupid stuff I was doing before… I'll feel safer.

Bumblebee hadn't wanted to recharge. He felt restless, despite being so lethargic all the time.

It was the middle of the night. Prowl was deep in recharge, and he'd slipped away after a cycle or so of staring at the ceiling and failing to keep the niggling fear of Shockwave out of his mind.

If he thought about it too long, the fear would permeate his spark, and he'd begin to panic, until he forced his mind to think logically over the situation.

What if Shockwave did come to earth again? Highly likely. Terrifyingly likely. But moving beyond that…

What would happen if he came to the base?

He would be met with a large contingent of Autobots. Even if Shockwave came with backup, they could probably match them with the firepower of the ship they now had.

Bumblebee didn't want to take any chances though. He wanted to be able to do SOMETHING to defend himself. Soon he'd have his stingers back, and Ratchet had promised they would be at their fullest setting.

Not that he could use them for a while at that setting, apparently that would draw way too much power from his spark and he'd be knocked out cold, so he'd have to wait for that. In the meantime, his best mode of defense would be the training Prowl had started him on.

And why not start practicing again now? He didn't want to recharge, and he didn't want to lay around and dwell on horrible thoughts in the darkness. He needed to be proactive. He needed to do something to make him feel less afraid, he was so SICK of being afraid ALL the time.

He hated his frailty, hated his patheticness… and with Wheeljack and Prowl and Ratchet all bolstering his self-worth on a daily basis, the old him was seeping back in.

And the old Bumblebee couldn't stand to keep thinking about something when he had the option to just DO it.

There was a small problem though.

He didn't have any armor on, and he hadn't tried to put it on himself because it would take too long and make too much noise. So he'd wrapped his thermal tarp around himself and snuck out of the medbay.

It was good to know at least that he had retained the skills he'd been perfecting before his capture. Neither Prowl nor Ratchet had stirred, and he crept through the base slowly with nothing but a whisper from the sheet wrapped around him.

The base was nice at night. Quiet but for the soft patter of the drizzling rain on the tin roof. Orange streetlight cutting through the gloom from the skylights and high factory windows throwing sharp shadows across hallways.

The scout slipped into the sparring room and slid down to sit just inside the door. He might not be dealing with the weight of his armor, but the weakness of his spark still felt like he carried lead weights wherever he went.

Bumblebee despised it. His own body, his own weakness fettered him, and it left him with a constant, bitter undertone to his mood. He would force it to do what he wanted, Primus help him, he was NOT going to let his poor spark constitution stop him now. Even if it killed him.

He let out a hollow laugh at that. Yeah, right. He wished.

After a few breems of waiting for his energy levels to cycle back up, he stood himself up using the wall for support.

He left his tarp on the floor and wandered into the middle of the room, onto the matting they'd put down to stop them scuffing the slag out of themselves when they trained. Well… the matting PROWL had put down. The rest of them hadn't thought to do it at first.

Bee stretched his arms and legs gingerly. His still damaged areas hurt, and the newer joints were stiff from lack of use. That was about to change.

He took up the wide stance Prowl had taught him, pedes feeling out their grip. It was a bizarre feeling, to do this without armor. He would never of tried this without it in the day time, not completely naked as he was, exposed interface components aching dully and fully visible. Not to mention his nearly visible spark and exposed new integration circuits.

He wasn't too worried right now though, it was dark, and fairly quiet. Nothing but the dull patter of rain on the roof to break the stillness. He'd hear anyone but Prowl coming, and he didn't care if

Prowl saw him naked anymore.

Slowly, he paced through the moves he knew. He'd have to practice again with armor, and he knew it, because the bulk of it changed how he had to move, but it was… interesting, to go through it without the hindrance.

Everything felt smoother and easier, despite his stiffness and protesting limbs. He wondered if maybe half his issues had been that the shape of his armor didn't lend itself to metallikato. He immediately dismissed that, a little voice in his head that sounded like Prowl saying 'that's an excuse. A cyber-ninja works their moves to suit their frame'.

He wasn't sure Prowl had ever actually said that, but it did remind him of what he'd said earlier in the day.

He stopped, vents panting from even the small amount of exertion. He stood in the resting stance, feet slightly apart, fists clenched, arms bent and tucked at his sides, back straight.

Offlining his optics, Bumblebee evened out his ventilations, regulating the air through his frame so it was less gasping and more flowing.

He stood like this for a few kliks, listening to his own systems, trying to smooth them out until he could feel his spark pulsing smoothly. He focused on his audios, picking out and identifying every sound around him.

Images flickered across his processor, unbidden… memories of the last time he'd listened so intently.

He shivered, trying to press from his mind the memories of icy dread when he'd hear the feint clank of Decepticon pedes coming towards him. It started playing tricks on his Meta, until he wasn't sure if he actually WAS hearing those sounds again or not.

He swayed where he stood before tightening his cables, grunting softly in pain from the unmended ones complaining at him. His frame shook, despite his attempt to still it.

No. NO. I'm going to DO this. I know HOW to now, I just need to DO it…

He drew in a large vent and expelled it slowly. He went back to listening, trying to calm his mind and think about nothing but feeling energy as it moved through him.

Try as he might though, memories would not stop flashing across his mind, breaking his concentration and suffusing his spark with dread and fear he didn't want to feel.

With a snarl of irritation he thrashed his way through the kata Prowl had taught him, frustrated by how sloppy he was, how clumsy he felt his moves must be. He punched the nearest wall hard in a fit of ire and immediately regretted it, sinking down against it to sit and cradle his dented servo.

He'd thrown too much into that punch and it had reverberated all the way up his arm, jarring damaged sensors and leaving him feeling winded. Once he was down, he felt the lethargy catch up with him and groaned.

"Weak. Pathetic. Never going to be able to fight anything off at this rate… no point even saving me, can't even protect myself" he spat bitterly into the darkness, panting.

His spark felt like it was on fire and he was dizzy. He'd been trying to push through the pain that constantly plagued him, but it was harder when he was only making it worse.

"Shouldn't be so hard on yourself y'know."

Bumblebee made a startled noise and practically flattened himself against the wall, wide, pale optics fixing on the source of the voice.

Sunstreaker stood just inside the door, servos up and looking slightly alarmed by the reaction.

"Whoa, sorry… thought you knew I was there."

"WHY would you have thought that?" He hated how panicked he sounded, making a strangled sound of embarrassment when he realized he was exposing his uncovered chestplates and interface equipment to the bot and hurriedly curled in on himself to shield them.

"I uh… sorry… wasn't trying to be quiet. Force of habit, I thought maybe you were talking to me." He murmured, feeling awkward. The way the bot was staring at him made him uneasy. Like he thought he was going to attack him.

"Why are you here?" Bee tried not to sound accusatory, but it was hard when his systems were straining and he was still suffering from the initial shock and embarrassment.

"Couldn't recharge, went for a drive. You?" He tried to be conversational to disarm the mech's apparent fear of him. It may have just been a byproduct of his ordeal, but it wouldn't be the first time somebot had looked at him that way. It was just that this time he hadn't intentionally intimidated or frightened him.

"…Couldn't recharge either. Can you uh… chuck that… over here?" Bee murmured, gesturing to the micro-fiber sheet still crumpled by the door.

Sunstreaker blinked and looked around. "Oh… oh, right, no armor, sorry." He murmured gruffly, tossing the tarp to Bumblebee whilst trying not to look at him again. "For what it's worth, I can't see much of you over there, it's too dark."

Bee didn't respond, wrapping the sheet around him and relaxing a little. After an awkward pause, he spoke up again. "How long were you watching?"

"Just heard something in here, looked in and saw you doing a combo before you punched the wall. Didn't realize you were recovered enough to start training again."

Bumblebee stood slowly, supporting himself on the wall again. "…Technically I'm probably not but I got impatient. Don't tell Ratchet or Prowl, doubt they'll like it."

"Nah, won't say anything. Not like I'm on conversational terms with either of them. Seriously though, I get the frustration. Hate when I can't train because of injuries. Gotta give it time though." The warrior murmured gruffly.

Bee just looked away from him, optics burning with frustration and anger at himself. "Don't have time. Shockwave isn't going to wait for me to get better before attacking." He muttered.

"Mmm. Point. Which is why I don't blame you for trying to jump back into it, but right now you look like doing more of that will give you spark failure. If you still don't feel like recharging… I did have a question."

The scout couldn't help himself, looking up expectantly at the golden bot. And when he moved into a shaft of orange light coming from the windows, he didn't even think about looking away.

In the daylight the bot was impressive, but in the stark contrast of the streetlight and the shadows, the black and gold paint looked like he was a portrait come to life.

Bumblebee wasn't a big appreciator of art, but right then and there he swore he was getting an idea of what Bulkhead saw in it.

After staring dumbly for a few seconds, he came back to himself and noted the mech seemed unsurprised by his lapse in concentration and gawking. "Uuuh… question? About what?"

"Videogames. Your friend, the little femmelet, was talking about them. I'm curious. I figure if neither of us wants to recharge, maybe you can show me what the big deal is?"

The scout considered for a moment, rather surprised by the subject. Once his processor mulled over the idea, he nodded. "Yeah, sure, why not."

Prowl tried not to panic when he woke up with a distinct feeling something was wrong and found Bumblebee was not beside him.

He practically ran out of the medbay towards the common area, zeroing in on the first bot he came across.

Sunstreaker glanced over his shoulder at him before looking back at the television where he was attempting to beat the game AI of ninja gladiator. "He's fine. He fell into stasis about half a cycle ago."

Prowl had been about to ask, and slumped slightly in relief, wandering over when the golden mech jerked his head to the side, indicating where the scout was.

As Prowl walked over to lean on the back of the couch and check on him, the sound of pede-falls could be heard from the corridor he'd just left.

"Uuuugh did you recharge at ALL bro? I feel way too wired for this time of the cycle. What is it here, early morning? Oh, hey uh… Prowl, right? Wait, WHAAAT is this?"

Sideswipe wandered over beside Prowl, gaping at the TV, looking between the action on screen and the furious clicking of his brother's servos on the controller.

"Video game. Kid showed me how to play." He grunted back shortly, biting at his lip in concentration as he tried to get the super-combo to work. "Gah, DAMNIT he made this look so easy."

Sideswipe glanced down at the smaller bot where he'd fallen into recharge, half curled into a ball and wrapped in a thermal sheet. He made a noise of surprise. "Is he… does he have any armor on? He looks TINY. I mean… tinier than before."

"No. He probably didn't try to put any on in case he woke me." Prowl murmured, leaning down to touch Bumblebee's helm gently. "Did he say anything to you about being unable to recharge?" he addressed Sunstreaker, who had flopped back against the couch in defeat, match going to the NPC.

"Only that he couldn't. Neither could I. Happens sometimes." He shrugged, looking over at the scout, and up at Prowl curiously. He knew he'd promised not to say anything… but then he was pretty slag at keeping promises.

"Came across him trying to do some training. Thought I better discourage it before he hurt himself, I don't know that he should be practicing circuit-su in that state. Take it you were teaching him before the whole… thing, happened."

Prowl moved to perch on the arm of the couch, giving Sunstreaker a calculating look before nodding. "I was reluctant, at first. He was… initially, he did not seem ready to learn, but recently that changed, he started showing signs that he had the necessary patience. I only got in a few weeks with him before the Decepticons came."

"Few weeks? Must learn fast, from what I saw in the vid file I thought he would've been training for at least a couple months." He ignored his brother stealing the controller from him and sitting on the floor, starting up a new game.

A soft groan from beside him drew Sunstreaker's attention, and he noticed the scout stirring, pale optics onlining dimly and faceplate screwing up.

"…Ow."

"Bumblebee?"

The scout tried to shake off his recharge haze to look up and focus on the one addressing him. "Uh… hey Prowl."

"Are you alright?"

"Define 'alright'."

He made to sit up but hissed and rolled onto his back instead. "mmmmkay, maybe shouldn't have punched the wall."

"You punched a wall? Why?" Prowl leant down, features heavy with concern as he helped Bumblebee to sit up.

"Yeah I didn't think it was a great move, but then I've done it enough times so I can't talk." Sunstreaker murmured, glancing over the smaller mech with a thoughtful look. "You hungry? I know I am."

Bee looked up at him and nodded, dragging his sheet around himself securely with his left servo, trying not to move his right. He felt a sharp pang in the back of the shoulder every time he did. He guessed he'd disrupted the sensors, and tried to ignore it like he did the rest of the aches brought on by his over-exertion.

"UUUUGH how do you DO this? Up up down down left right left right jump crouch left right- GAH, he beat me AGAIN!" Sideswipe threw his arms up and scowled at the screen.

Bumblebee blinked at him. "How do you know that? I only showed Sunstreaker. How did you even know how to get back into a match?"

"I told him." Sunstreaker said mildly as he came back from the dispenser with a couple of cubes for them all.

"You did? When? I didn't hear you… did he come out here when I was sleeping?" Bee gave him a confused look as he took the cube offered.

"Nah, he told me just then." Sideswipe piped up, starting another match and trying, as his brother had been, to get the super combo.

Sunstreaker set a cube by his twin and handed one to Prowl, flopping back in his spot on the couch and sipping his own. He tapped at his own chestplates. "Spark twins. We don't need to use comms or anything, which is why you didn't detect any comms signals either. The jets can do it too."

"Whoa… that's pretty cool. Oh, uh…" He blinked as Sideswipe was suddenly kneeling in front of him proffering the controller with a pout.

"Show me how? I'm getting my aft kicked here."

Bee blinked and set his cube down, taking the controller in his left and slipping his right out gingerly, making sure the blanket was still well and truly covering him. He concentrated on the screen, setting up a new game with a few deft flicks and taps of his thumbs.

"You had the combo wrong. It's up up, down down, left right left right, jump, crouch, left LEFT, block, kick, double jump, aaaand there." Bee explained mildly, the movements coming deftly, character executing a brutal fatality against the AI competitor.

Sideswipe just gawked between his servos and the screen, looking incredulous. "Pit slag, how do you even move your fingers that fast, I can't do that! My fingers are too long." He huffed.

"Psh, pretty lame excuses there bro." Sunstreaker smirked. "Here, lemme give it a go again? I think I was double jumping when I was supposed to be blocking."

Bee handed it over and continued drinking, slightly amused. "Don't feel too bad. That one's pretty advanced. Took me about five or six tries to get it the first time."

"Really?... Slag, I lost count, I still haven't gotten it yet." Sunstreaker mumbled, frowning at the screen as he attempted and failed the combo yet again.

"Man this is FUN, why don't we have anything on Cybertron like this?" Sideswipe sat at Bee's feet with his back against the couch.

The scout just settled back and sipped his cube, watching the brothers take turns trying to get anywhere near his high score. It was a hollow sort of distraction. He couldn't help feeling like he'd lost something when he tried and failed to be interested by the game.

He used to be so into it… competitive, immersed, obsessed with pushing his high score, elated every time he did.

Now it just felt like… nothing. He didn't care. On one level he wanted to, but on another he just couldn't, because it was so… so superficial. It felt superficial, after what he'd been through. He couldn't bring himself to care because it was just a game and a high score meant nothing when a giant monster of a con could be coming back for him at any moment.

He hid the shaking of his hands at the thought by putting his cube down and fiddling with his sheet. Of course, the threat of Decepticon attack had always hovered over them. But it hadn't frightened him like this before.

Because by some miracle he'd always managed to escape any serious consequences for failure when taking them on. He'd gotten cocky, and complacent, and… well, he figured he might as well shut down that line of thought, since he'd already paid the price for it.

He noticed Sunstreaker glancing at him with some concern and picked his cube up again to hide his face behind it taking some solid gulps.

~ I'd kinda hoped this would be a good distraction for him, but I don't think it's worked~ he commented to his brother over the bond.

~ Well, you tried I guess? Why, what's he doing? Is he looking bored? ~ Sideswipe was just button mashing at this point to try and win a match.

~ He's looking introspective in that thinking dark thoughts way ~

~You mean like you do sometimes?~

~Mmmm. But with a distinct edge of anxiety.~

"So… how does it work? Being spark twins, I mean? I admit, beyond Jetfire and Jetstorm, I've never met any. And I've not really spoken with those two." Prowl piped up curiously.

"Hmm? Not sure what you wanna know… I mean, it's a split spark…. That's pretty much all there is to it, we were one spark, then it split in two and both halves got their own frames, and ta-da. Twins." Sideswipe shoved the controller at his brother and turned enough to talk to Prowl and Bumblebee, even though the scout wasn't really involving himself in the conversation.

"So… you share a bond. Is it anything like a sparkbond between non-familial bots?" Prowl tilted his helm inquisitively.

"Mmmm not really. It's… no offence to bondmates, but what we have is way stronger. You know how when a bondmate dies and the other has a good chance of survival? We don't have that. One of us dies and that's it, both of us are gone." Sunstreaker explained simply, chucking his empty cube on the low table and going into the game menu to pick a different character.

"Yeah, they don't geeenerally like twins in the elite guard because of that. Too much of a liability in any team when losing one loses you another automatically. But the Jet twins were some sort of secret project so they got a free pass, and we… well, they couldn't pass us up after seeing how well we fight."

"I see. Where did you train?" The black and gold mech pressed curiously, Bumblebee happy to latch onto the conversation as a distraction.

"Pits mostly. We used to be scraggers."

Prowl made a noise of sympathy, and Bumblebee just looked between them, confused. "What's a scragger?"

Sideswipe gave him a surprised look. "You never heard of scraggers? They're the bots on the Miteous Plateau who run the gauntlet of electric and acid storms to gather up raw energon crystals. We had too many near misses, we hated the job, so we ran away from the facility there and tried to make it on our own."

"Didn't get very far. Ended up in Kaon, poor and pretty desperate. The Pits offered money for fighters. We went in and won a few matches, but the thing they don't tell you is once you're in and you don't immediately die, you don't get out." Sunstreaker rumbled, gladiator character on the screen swinging a mace at the alien warrior it was pitted against.

"What do you mean?... They imprisoned you there?" Prowl frowned. He knew of the pits, but hadn't ever been there.

"Yeah pretty much. Eventually we were rescued by a bot who thought our fighting skills were of better use elsewhere. Jazz paid the Pits boss enough to buy our freedom, and told us all we had to do to repay him was train into the elite guard. So… I mean hey, here we are! It's way better than being a scragger."

"Why DO they call them scraggers?" Bumblebee asked with a small frown.

"It's a mix of things. You have to scramble around in crags a lot, you run like a scared fragger and you look like scrap from all the acid wear. Scragger. Just sounds right for the position I guess. If you'd seen us at the time, you wouldn't even question the term." Sunstreaker shrugged, making a small sound of triumph as he managed to win his match.

"Hey! Who taught you guys how to play? I though I w- Bee!"

Not for the first time, Sari was surprised to see her friend, and went rushing forward only to stop herself short of touching him. She scrambled onto the lounge to sit between him and Sunstreaker, Sideswipe giving her an amused look.

"Hey Sari. Sorry, beat you to it. Sunstreaker wanted me to show him." Bumblebee explained, trying to flash her at least a small smile. She looked shocked by seeing him without armor again, and he didn't want her to be too worried. Apparently it didn't really work, because she frowned in concern.

"What's wrong with your armor? Why can't you wear it?"

"Nothing, I just… didn't put it on." He tried to give a casual shrug and winced, hissing at the renewed stab of pain in his shoulder.

Sari frowned more. "If there's something wrong you don't have to hide it from me. I'm not a kid anymore Bee, I can handle it- "

"No... Really… I'm fine… just did something stupid, it totally doesn't have anything to do with me not wearing armour."

"It probably doesn't. I mean you'd still have dented your knuckles on the wall with or without it." Sunstreaker commented nonchalantly.

The techno-organic just looked more distressed. "How did you dent your knuckles on a wall?"

Bumblebee sighed in defeat. "I didn't feel like recharging last night. I didn't wanna wake Prowl or Ratch so I left without the armor and went to try and do some training, and I got frustrated when I couldn't do it right and punched the wall. There. I'm alright, nothing else bad has happened, just me being an idiot, as usual." He murmured.

He felt a servo on his helm and looked up as soft pressure tilted his head back. Prowl's optics met his, upside-down.

"It's not stupid to want to get back to full health. Just try not to punch anymore walls." He commented softly.

Bumblebee made a non-committal noise of acknowledgement and looked back down at Sari when his head was released with a gentle rub to his audial. The gesture just seemed so normalized to him now that he didn't notice how Sari eyed it with surprise.

"So… you're actually kinda… feeling better, then? If you're walking around trying to practice your moves, that means you're feeling better, right?" she said hopefully.

The scout blinked at her and looked down at his nearly finished cube. "I… maybe, I guess so? I still feel tired, even when I can't sleep. That's why I was getting frustrated. I couldn't do anything right though, I do a couple moves and I'm exhausted."

"Considering you couldn't stand on your own a few days ago, I think you're doing pretty good to be sneaking around in the middle of the night without anyone realizing it." Prowl said reasonably.

"Guess you have a point there." Bumblebee conceded. "I just… I'm sick of being so weak. I don't wanna be falling on my aft or falling asleep every cycle. And I'm really, REALLY tired of being in pain all the time." He grumbled, scowling at the rest of his cube before he finished it off.

Sari made to reach out and stopped herself mid gesture, retracting her hand. Bumblebee noticed, and felt guilty. He knew it wasn't either of their fault that she couldn't touch him, but then he HAD gone and gotten himself in this situation, so as far as he was concerned he should feel bad.

The scout wasn't sure what to say to her. Didn't know how to apologize for ruining himself. She deserved a better friend. He hoped Bulkhead was enough for her, that the two of them could be happy despite him. Dragging them down… dragging everybody down, made him feel like a piece of slag.

It didn't matter how many times they all said it wasn't his fault, he could see their moods fall every time he was around. It didn't matter if it was because they cared about him, HE was DOING it to them, and he couldn't stand it. He'd rather cut himself out of the equation so they didn't have to suffer.

The awkward silence between them grew until the arrival of another bot proved a thankful distraction.

"Can someone tell me WHY Bumblebee isn't in the medbay but his armor IS- oh THERE you are. What are you doing running around naked kid? You could hurt yourself like that." Ratchet griped worriedly as he wandered in and made a b-line for the couch.

"He couldn't recharge and didn't want to wake us." Prowl tried to placate the medic as he came to hover over the scout, doing a few scans.

"PRIMUS kid, you couldn't sleep so you went and fractured a shoulder strut?" he exclaimed, sounding slightly incredulous.

"I did what now?" Bee gave him a surprised look and didn't resist when Ratchet got him to lean forward a little and pulled the blanket down a little from his shoulder, doing more scans.

"Straight up sheered the central radial strut of your left shoulder into two. It was already in a pretty weak state. Not surprised it happened, but what I wanna know is what you did that buckled the other radial supports at the same time."

He tried not to squirm, wincing a little as the medic pulled an emergency bracket out of subspace and transformed out a welding tool to patch the break.

"I um… maybesortapunchedawallabittoohard."

"Slag mech, how are you not curled up and gasping at that one? Sheering struts hurts like a motherboard-fragger. But hey, your technique can't have been all that bad if you did most of the damage to the shoulder and not the servo." Sideswipe commented, shrinking back at the glare he got from Ratchet.

"I'm not gonna ask why you went around punching walls, but I will ask you not to try it again until we've finished your repairs. When I'm done with this bracket I'll take a look at your servo. Both of them actually, you've got minor joint distention in them I've been meaning to get around to fixing anyway."

Bumblebee's spark burnt with shame at having made more work for Ratchet. He didn't look at anyone, and didn't really pay attention to whatever the conversation turned to among Sari and the twins while he was getting patched up.

Ratchet tried to catch his gaze as he came around to the front of the couch and crouched to start working on his dented right servo.

"Don't feel bad kid. You're frustrated, I know. That shoulder woulda cracked eventually anyway, we'll just bump up the strut replacement on the surgery list. Any reason in particular you couldn't recharge?" he murmured quietly enough that only Bumblebee could hear.

The scout shrugged his left shoulder. "Couldn't stop thinking about… what's gonna happen when he comes. Can't stand just sitting around waiting. Needed to do something."

Ratchet hummed, noting with a little confusion that Bumblebee's servos were tensing and shaking sporadically. Not enough to stop him popping out the dents or re-aligning the joints, but odd.

"Something wrong? If you're in pain I can-"

"HEY Guuuuys didja miss me? I have some pretty important news, hope you're ready to hear it!" Rodimus made a loud entrance, Bumblebee distracted from Ratchet's questioning.

Ironhide strolled in after the flame painted prime with a roll of his optics, trying to shake the rainwater off him in the doorway. "We received a communication from the flagship about a half cycle ago. They say there's-"

"AH, no HEY, it's my news, I'm telling it. There's a convicted spy on the way here, Sentinel's team has been tracking him and they think he's headed here. Honestly, I'm a little disappointed that the pride of the Elite guard can't even catch ONE lone felon, but then-"

"Are you going to tell us who this felon is or continue shooting your damn mouth off kid?" Ratchet piped up grumpily, standing and scowling, making sure Rodimus was well aware that Bumblebee was sitting RIGHT THERE and looking rather apprehensive about the news.

"Oh… OH, it's not uh… no it's not who you think… the guy's name is Wasp. Never heard of him myself, but-"

"Wasp?... He's coming here? But he's not even guilty, why are they chasing him?" The light of fear left Bumblebee's optics, but he didn't relax.

"He was pretty mad 'atcha Bee. Don't mean to scare ya, but he did talk an aweful lot about gettin' revenge on you. Not that he could get near you right now if he tried." Ironhide gave him an apologetic look.

Bee thunked his helm lightly on the couch, sinking further down on it. "Can't blame him."

"I'll uh… I'll just go back to the ship and tell them you know about it now then." Rodimus said awkwardly, noting that Prowl was still glaring at him, and transformed to drive back out into the rain.

Ironhide wandered over to the couch with a sigh. "Hey, Bumblebee? I just remembered something I wanted to ask ya… 'bout Wasp. When I used to visit him, in the stockades… when he started kinda losin' it, he'd call ya somethin'. I thought it was just him goin' nuts, but… figured I might as well ask you if the designation 'S6' means anything to ya?"

Bumblebee looked around at him with wide, surprised optics. "That's… that's my proto-designation. How does he know that?"

Ironhide looked just as surprised. "Really?... Cause he told me, when we first met, before Sentinel gave us new designations, his was 'S5'. Didn't realize you two were batch brothers".

Ratchet and Prowl shared a look of shock.

"Uh… so… what does that mean?" Sari looked between all of them, noting that some of them seemed as clueless as she did as to the full significance of that.

Bumblebee's expression fell, and he looked slightly devastated. "He… he always knew who I was. He must've recognized me, soon as he saw me… no wonder he was so mean, I DIDN'T recognize him. We were best friends and I didn't even RECOGNIZE him."

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe shared a look. Not recognizing a mech who'd practically been your sibling would be a harsh blow.

Sari noticed Bumblebee making a face, thinking he must feel terrible for not recognizing someone. She wanted to ask more about Wasp, hoping to console him about it since she'd always had trouble recognizing people when they got their hair cut.

But Bumblebee's face wasn't caused by the grief he felt over hurting his old friend so badly, it was because the ache in his spark was physically manifesting once more.

"NnnhhRatch it's happening again." He gasped. He'd been fighting back the beginnings of the spark purge since he'd finished his energon, but the emotional flux had made him lose his tentative control on the burning fluctuations. He shot an apologetic look at Sari before gasping and doubling over.

Without a word, Ratchet scooped him up and headed for the medbay, Prowl excusing himself and following while Sari watched them go anxiously.

Bumblebee's insomnia was well and truly paid for by his body after the spark purge was done with him.

He didn't wake again until late afternoon, at which point he was set upon by Ratchet, Wheeljack and Perceptor, who went about replacing the brackets of his right shoulder.

The damage there had been from a combination of the way he'd been hung by the wrists for long periods and the heat torture administered by Cyclonus.

The struts were warped and one of them had sheered in half, which would have been excruciating if the sensors in that area were working properly. It turned out they weren't, due to damaged nerve cabling. The nodes themselves were fine, but their link to his processor was degraded thanks to long term lack of energon feeding to the right converter.

So that was another thing that needed replacing. Bumblebee wished that all his sensory circuitry had suffered energon depletion in the same way. It would have meant everything hurt less.

Perceptor pointed out that it would have meant he could barely move due to tension cable motors often being on the same converter circuits as much of his sensory network. He had to concede to that and lie still on his front while the scientist finished up the welds.

By the time they were done with him, Bumblebee had the restless urge again. Something had nagged at his processor since he'd woken. He supposed it was probably related to the fact he'd been having memory flashes during the purge from his boot camp days.

There was someone he really needed to talk to.

Bulkhead had been genuinely surprised, and even more genuinely pleased, when he'd answered a knock on his door and opened it to find Bumblebee.

"He little buddy! What's up, come in, how are ya?"

Bumblebee couldn't help a small smile at the genuine enthusiasm with which he was greeted.

"Hey Bulkhead. I was wondering if I could just… talk with you, for a bit?"

He didn't know why he felt so damn awkward. He supposed it was the nature of what he wanted to talk about, but he'd never been one to pussy-foot around Bulkhead. He was the LAST bot to do so. Normally.

But nothing felt normal for him anymore, really.

"Of course you can, c'mon, come sit. I wasn't doin' anything important. Just reading up on some spacebridge stuff. Still workin on designs for one we can build here."

The scout shuffled in and flopped down on a barrel. He had his armor on again, something Prowl had had to help him with given the stiffness and lack of movement he had in his right arm while letting the welds set.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk about?" Bulkhead sat on his berth, giving Bumblebee a pleased, if not slightly apprehensive look.

The sub-compact fiddled with his servos, trying to figure out how best to brooch the subject, before deciding that being direct was the only way to go.

"Am I… have I been a bad friend to you Bulkhead?"

The large green mech looked as if he'd been slapped in the face.

"Wh-… Bumblebee, where's this coming from?"

The yellow mech couldn't meet his gaze, frowning at his own servos as he fiddled with them, tracing scratches in the metal.

"Don't hold back Bulkhead. If I've been a bad friend, you should tell me. I know I was bossy, I know I egged you on to do stuff you didn't want to… I've been thinking about it, and I thought… maybe you just kept hanging around with me because there's not many of us on earth and you don't have a lot of options."

There was a heavy silence between them for a few astroseconds, Bee staring resolutely at his servos and Bulkhead gaping at him in confusion.

"No… Bee, no, you're not a bad friend. You're a little… over-ambitious sometimes. But I'm a little under-ambitious, so we balance out I guess. If I didn't think you were a good friend and a good bot, I never woulda kept hangin' out with you in boot-camp."

Bumblebee had to look up, wanting to gauge the sincerity in Bulkhead's words by the look on his face, but really he knew what he'd see before he even saw it.

His question had hurt Bulkhead.

The green mech got off the berth and sat directly in front of the scout, bringing himself closer to his eye level. "What's this about Bee? Why would you feel like you're not a good friend? You nearly died for us… nearly died for me… you're the best kind of friend I could ever hope for. You're… you're like a brother to me."

At this Bumblebee's face contorted into something unreadable, and he hung his helm, unable to keep the other's gaze. "I… I had a brother once. He was the closest thing to it. And I forgot him Bulkhead. I forgot him. I couldn't even recognize him when I saw him again, what kind of a person does that make me?"

The static underpinning Bumblebee's voice broke Bulkhead's spark, and against the voice in his head telling him he shouldn't because he was clumsy, he leant forward and embraced his friend.

He was so very careful, holding him like he was made of glass, afraid to hurt him but needing to do SOMETHING to comfort him.

"Talk to me little buddy. What's happened? What's brought this all up?" his voice was gentler than Bumblebee had ever heard it, and he couldn't help but answer.

"It's Wasp. Wasp was my brother. Before we got out of the initiation center, we were in the last of the batch sparkings. Something happened there… to him, something terrible. I didn't even know, at the time. Neither of us really knew, but they took him away and by the time I met him again in boot camp I didn't even know who he was. He must have known me because he was always mad at me for no apparent reason."

Bulkhead absorbed this information slowly, frowning. It did explain a lot. Wasp had had no real reason to hate them or treat them badly. He'd always assumed the bot was just nasty by nature, not that something horrible had happened to him to make him so bitter.

He certainly hadn't thought that Bumblebee's lack of recognition of him could have caused it. Not that that accounted for how he'd treated him personally, but Bulkhead supposed that having a brother not know you would hurt you enough to make you lash out at others.

"How'd you find all this out? WHEN did you find out?"

Bumblebee had slumped in his friend's embrace. Normally he tensed up in Bulkhead's hold just to resist the crushing force. He never blamed him, since Bulkhead always had trouble judging his own strength.

But the obvious care he was taking right now to be careful made him feel safe, surrounded by the other's strength when he felt so weak and vulnerable.

"Ironhide told me something. He said Wasp had talked about it, in the stockades, when he'd seen him. He'd talked about our proto-designations, and that can't be a coincidence. And now Wasp has escaped and he's headed here. I'm not… I'm not scared so much, I just… I feel so guilty and I don't think any apology is gonna be enough…"

Bulkhead patted a servo gingerly against Bumblebee's back, humming in thought. "I… I don't mean to pry, Bee… but what happened to him in the center that made them take him away?"

Bumblebee squirmed slightly and sighed through his vents. "He… don't repeat this, I told some of the others in the middle of a surgery when I was overcharged, probably shouldn't have. He was abused by one of the caretakers. They interfaced with him before he had the codes for that. It… it messed him up a little, he was confused, he felt wrong. I was too young to understand it either and I told him to show me what they did…"

Bulkhead gasped before he could stop himself, servo faltering and stilling before he collected himself again. "Did he… he didn't force you, did he?"

"Not really. He showed me… broke my seals, we did the whole, y'know… thing. But neither of us knew what we were actually doing or any of the implications of it. And when I complained to one of the carers about my equipment feeling weird, the whole thing came out, and he got taken away to some kinda treatment facility. They never told me where, they wouldn't. The caretaker that hurt him… I don't even know what happened to the guy."

The larger mech rubbed circles gently on his friend's back as he listened and processed everything.

"Does Wasp look anything like what he did back then? Before he was taken away?"

Bumblebee didn't answer verbally, but he saw the top of the horned helm shaking in a no.

There was a pause before Bulkhead pressed on.

"Did he ACT like he used to?"

There was another pause before Bumblebee answered, voice rough with static. "He was always kinda cocky… but he didn't used to be as nasty, he didn't make comments as cutting and hurtful before. But he was the closest thing I ever had to family back then. I should have known Bulkhead. I'd know you if you were painted bright slaggin' pink and talked about nothing but spacebridge tech."

"I'd forgive you if you didn't y'know" Bulkhead rumbled with slight amusement at the image.

Bumblebee shook his helm again and pressed his forehead against the expansive green chassis. "I sent him to the stockades Bulkhead. I betrayed him. I ruined his life, twice. He could never forgive me, I couldn't ask him to. I don't know what I'm even gonna say when he finds his way here."

The larger bot rumbled sympathetically and held Bee a tiny bit tighter.

"I wish I could think of something that would make it alright… truth is buddy I don't know either. If it was me… I'd be pretty mad too. But… the first time wasn't really your fault. And the second time was Longarm's fault. Maybe if someone else tells him that, before he finds you?"

Bumblebee's engine whined as he struggled to keep a reign on his emotions, throat feeling tight with grief and guilt. "I know, I know it was circumstance, but it was still my fault… I keep… I keep thinking that this was all some kind of payback. Like the universe paid me back for messing up his life so badly…" his vocalized hitched and his words were lost to static.

Bulkhead let out a rumble from his own engine, unsure how to comfort his friend. "Shhh no, Bee no, don't think that way. You didn't deserve it, you didn't. You're not a bad friend, and you're not a bad brother."

He leant back and shifted his hold on Bumblebee, cradling his ridiculously light frame against his larger chassis and rocking slightly. At this point he was running on some instinctual sort of code related more to calming upset sparklings than grieving, broken friends.

The response was Bumblebee's arms moving to clutch him in the closest thing the smaller bot could come to embracing him back. It was a different kind of embrace, with servos searching desperately for some kind of anchor as he felt the grief overwhelm him.

They sat like this for a long time, the scout unable to control the waves of self-loathing and guilt mixing with anger and confusion as they seethed through his spark, making it feel like it might explode in his chassis. He lost track of time, the moments crawling by as he drowned in his emotions.

Eventually he became exhausted, having sobbed himself into silence against Bulkhead's chestplates, the larger bot murmuring assurances that he wasn't bad and didn't deserve what had happened as he rocked gently and rubbed circles over his trembling back-plates.

Bumblebee fought the urge to sink into stasis, hating his inability to stay awake for more than a few cycles at a time and not feeling ready to sink into unconsciousness. Not feeling like he deserved the relief of sleep.

"I don't know what we're gonna do about Wasp Bumblebee. But I know you. And you're a good bot. You've always been a good bot. You'd never hurt anyone like that on purpose. You gotta remember you're not a bad person. You didn't deserve any of this. I don't… I can't stand the thought of you believing that, and it hurts that I can't help you more. I wanna help you more. Please don't think you deserved this Bee."

He was shocked by how much pain he heard in Bulkhead's voice as he spoke to him softly. He raised his helm and locked his pale optics with his friend's own over bright ones.

There was nothing but sincerity in Bulkhead's eyes. It was hard to defy the assertion that he shouldn't hate himself when he looked in those eyes and saw nothing but spark-felt honesty.

He let his helm fall against Bulkhead's chassis again and gave a shaky sigh. "I mighta been the one fighting cons off you. But you're still the better friend." He rasped out quietly.

Chapter Text

Here he was again. Facing the prospect of something that should be good, and dreading it entirely.

His new proto-alloy was ready to go, but before it could be attached, he needed to be spotless. Which meant a very thorough shower. And there was no way he could do that on his own.

He already felt awkward enough about the last time. As much as he'd gotten somewhat used to the new intimacy between himself and Prowl, it became something else entirely in the shower.

He liked Prowl. He didn't think he could have survived without him. He still felt confused whenever he thought too hard about it… how had it come to be?

Was it normal to become so attached to a team-mate he'd had a rocky-at-best relationship with beforehand? Did the ordeal undercut the legitimacy of the feelings he got when Prowl touched him? What even WERE his feelings when Prowl touched him?

True intimacy was something he'd never had a good handle on. He was always bad at dealing with heavily emotional stuff, he'd always shrugged it off or made a joke out of it.

Which had always crushed pretty much anything he felt that was too complicated before it began, because he hated figuring it out.

He knew, as he stepped into the washracks and set aside his thermal sheet, that he really didn't have a choice though. Not now. Not with this. This was important. What he felt towards Prowl was important because he didn't want to push him away, but he had no idea where this slippery slope was taking them.

He felt like he should say something. Something about wishing he could just do this himself.

But that would be nasty, wouldn't it? That would come out the wrong way. This kinda stuff always comes out the wrong way from me, he thought bitterly.

What if he just said something straight up about it… it was totally platonic, right? Prowl was just helping, he didn't actually have feelings for him, right?

Primus what if Prowl DID have feelings for him?

Noooo no, surely not. He just felt sorry for him, he was just helping him, and the help happened to involve helping him clean himself. Which just so happened to cause him to overload several times.

Something Prowl said he liked seeing because it made him look less in pain.

Well, that was kinda ambiguous. It wasn't really an 'I want to make you overload because I love how you look in the throes of pleasure', but it could just be that Prowl was lying. Either about liking how he looked overloading, or about not having deeper feelings towards him.

No, why would he lie to me? He wouldn't hurt me like that.

But he still couldn't ignore the fact that Prowl touching him and making him overload the last time… as much as it had been so he didn't have a charge hangover to torture him, it had felt slagging amazing.

He felt entirely guilty about hoping that would happen again. He wasn't supposed to enjoy this. It happened against his will after all.

Unless I accept it and enjoy it, in which case it's not really against my will anymore, but then I'm the one taking advantage of him and that… Primus, no, frag, why does this have to be so complicated?

"I know you don't like this Bumblebee, but you seem a lot more… troubled than usual. Did you… did you not want me to help unless you absolutely need it?"

Bumblebee couldn't even look at Prowl, noting the ninja-bot sounded just as awkward about the whole thing as he felt.

And here he'd thought they'd moved passed this kind of weirdness and it was just him making it uncomfortable.

"I… um… I don't know? I don't know, Prowl. I don't even know how I feel anymore." He gave a defeated sort of noise and slumped down on the bench.

Prowl sat beside him and brushed their servos together. Accidentally or on purpose, Bee wasn't sure, but he pressed his servo closer anyway, trying in whatever small way to make sure Prowl didn't leave.

"What's bothering you the most about it? I know… it's an exceptionally intimate situation. And you and I are… we're new to this sort of circumstance between us. I don't want to be causing you more consternation though. Not if I can help it." The ninja spoke softly, voice laced with apologetic undertones the whole time.

Bee bit at his bottom lip-plate a little, brow knitted as he stared at his knees. "I… look I know I don't have a choice here. I have to clean up, and every time I do, for Primus knows how long, I'm gonna be overloading whether I like it or not. Is it… is it wrong for me to be okay with it? If I have no choice? If it's you? Does that make things too weird between us?"

He'd looked up at Prowl tentatively, optics full of confusion and apprehension.

Prowl seemed to take the matter very seriously, not answering immediately, thinking carefully before answering.

"I don't think any close relationship is without its complications. Ours is that we are intimate out of necessity. You have come into this unwilling, which you have every right to be. I want you to know I would NEVER take advantage of you, and if you don't want me assisting you more than absolutely necessary, I swear to do my best. But… if you are comfortable with us being… more familiar in this way… then so am I."

Bee sighed softly, staring at the floor without really seeing it. "I don't know what I'm comfortable with. You're… I need you. Like, REALLY need you, more than I think I've needed anyone. So I don't know how to deal with that… and I don't know how to feel about… THIS. At first I didn't want it. I still don't want the whole… overloading without a choice thing. But when I think about the last time, when you… y'know. UGH, see? I don't even know how to talk about it. I liked it, OK? And I don't know what that MEANS. I don't know if liking it makes this weird, I don't know if it's RIGHT."

He closed his optics and put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He felt Prowl's servo rest on his shoulder, the other bot making a soft humming sound of sympathy.

"I understand what you mean. You like me. But you don't like me romantically. If it helps, I have been… thinking this over a lot lately myself. I think it's safe to say I like you the same way. A great deal of it has to do with how much respect I have for you. But the lines become blurry, when it comes to this part." He gestured to the washracks around them.

"I want to make you feel good. And I've tried to pick that apart in my head, and in my spark. I've tried to figure out if what I feel is… is RIGHT, as you say. I don't think my feelings towards you are romantic, but whatever they are, I can't quite… define them."

Bumblebee looked up at him when his voice took on a confused quality he rarely heard from the normally reserved mech.

Prowl looked back at him apologetically once more, servo moving to properly cover his, squeezing it lightly.

"All I know is I want to ease your pain. And this, while it's not something you endure willingly… I hoped I could ease the pain here, at the very least. Make it bearable by taking away the chore and turning it into something you could take relief in. I don't want to make it awkward, but I can't deny that making this feel good for you makes me feel good too. And I feel selfish for that. This isn't about me. It's up to you. If you aren't comfortable with me… actively helping you to overload, then I won't do it. But if you want that of me, I don't think it makes things weird between us. I don't think it's wrong. It just… it's coping. It's finding ways to make things alright again."

Bumblebee didn't break optic contact between them. He mulled over Prowl's words in his head, worrying his lip-plate again before nodding.

"Yeah… I'm probably overthinking this way too much. Let's just… do this. I don't care how irritated my sensor grid is going to be after the grafting, I want that dermal plating on. And I wanna feel good again, for once."

Prowl nodded with a gentle smile, and stood to turn on the water. Bumblebee didn't get up, knowing that the initial sensations would knock him on his aft anyway.

As predicted, the moment the water cascaded over his frame he shuddered and gasped, hunching against the relentless input of sensation.

He sat still like this for a minute or so, adjusting to the sensory feed until it was dulled enough for him to move. He leant back, whimpering as the water hit his chest-plates and refreshed the intensity.

Prowl gathered the cleaning tools and sat beside him on the bench, holding his servo and rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as Bumblebee gasped and arched.

The first overload came quickly, the scout clutching at Prowl's arm and screwing up his faceplate with the uncomfortable intensity. The black and gold mech used his free servo to stroke his helm soothingly as he leant it against a shoulder, panting.

Once the first one was over, Bumblebee's sensors reset and the second charge built at a slower pace.

Prowl began to help him clean up, slipping off the bench to kneel, using a brush to thoroughly detail his legs. The lower ones didn't require as much grafting, so they did not take long. When he reached the thighs however, it was much more difficult.

Bumblebee whimpered, half in pleasure, half in pain. The damage the jet had caused to his thigh plating was severe, and only a few touches had him struggling not to writhe.

He remembered why he loathed these sessions so much… experiencing pleasure that was caused by pain signals made him feel like he was sick, like there must be something fundamentally wrong with him. But Ratchet himself had assured him this was not something he felt by choice. It was just how sensor components worked in this situation.

When Prowl traced circles over his knee joints to ease the discomfort, it undid him far too easily, and he keened as another overload tore through him.

He gripped the edge of the bench hard, as much to stop himself slumping sideways as to ground his swimming processor.

Prowl carefully went about completing his thighs and moved onto his midriff. This was the worst area, and he debated internally over how to go about it for a good few astroseconds before he had Bumblebee lay down along the bench. He diverted the water away as he went about thoroughly detailing the damaged sensor mesh and the proto-metal anchor points.

Bumblebee was thankful for the respite, the touches from the cleaning only enough to stir a slow, comfortable charge. He moaned softly and shuddered, trying not to squirm, feeling Prowl's steadying servo on the panels covering his spark chamber.

He tried not to think too hard on the way his spark seemed to flare at the touch, putting it down to an automatic reaction.

The ninja-bot murmured a warning to him before he directed the water over him again to wash away whatever contaminants he had dislodged. Bumblebee gave a strangled cry and arched, charge surging, but not enough to tip him over.

He whimpered as waves of pleasure and pain warred across his frame and he automatically tried to curl in on himself and turn away from the source of the too intense sensations.

A moment later, the servo still resting on his chest panels was tracing the glass above them, Prowl moving to hover over him and block the spray.

He kept his optics resolutely off, unable to bring himself to look at the other bot while he felt those un-primusly good servos tracing over the parts of him that felt pleasure without pain.

Nimble digits worked their magic across his undamaged sensors, tracing his glass and golden panels with a light pressure. He arched into the touches, losing himself to them and forgetting his anxieties over the new dynamic between them.

His third overload still proved difficult to chase down. It wasn't until he onlined his optics in frustration and was greeted with Prowl's bright visor and determined expression that he managed to tip over the edge.

This time it was a breathless moan that left him, rather than a strained or uncomfortable sound. He arched into the firm touches, frame shaking slightly with the force of his release.

It was the first time that he felt like the ache it caused in his socket was totally worth it. But then, they weren't done.

Prowl pet his helm soothingly as he recovered, grabbing the spigot when he thought the scout had regained his strength a little more.

He lay prone and panting as Prowl used the pressure setting to clean out the areas on his arms where dermal plates would be replaced or grafted. The damaged parts of it that hadn't died would be left to heal alongside the new patches, but they had to be contaminant free in order to graft properly to the new metal. Otherwise he would be left with gaps and fissures. And patching those would leave worse scarring than the plating was already likely to be left with.

It would also mean his plating integrity was compromised, which was dangerous for any bot. Gaps in dermal plating left a bot susceptible to infections, infestations and internal injury. It was of the utmost importance he be spotless for the grafts.

But that meant the cleaning would have to take a while, which meant more overloads. And the more he had, the harder each subsequent one became to trigger.

Once Prowl had solvent soaked and pressure cleaned Bumblebee's arms, he worked on his neck and shoulders. It was difficult, because the scout was writhing and whimpering, sensors charged enough to be uncomfortable, but not nearly enough to get him over the edge.

Prowl frowned slightly as he tried to figure out the best way to give him what he needed while getting the job done quickly. He supposed double cleaning couldn't hurt, and pressed his sponge full of solvent lightly over Bumblebee's midriff, squeezing so the liquid ran through all the intricate and fiddly areas.

Bumblebee arched and keened, fumbling for and clutching at the arm holding the spigot, water pointing away from him.

Prowl bit his lip before fiddling with the spray nozzle to set it to broad. Bumblebee's optics had unshuttered to watch him carefully as he slowly moved the arm the scout was still clutching.

He hovered the spigot over Bumblebee's midriff, making him arch and moan. The servo clutching his arm shook madly as the constant spray got his charge spiking again.

When Prowl flicked his wrist so that the spray randomly hit his chest panels and glass, the small mech gave a few short gasps and cries, writhing as a fourth overload bloomed across his frame.

Once again, Prowl removed the spray to give him a rest from the stimulation. Bumblebee groaned and let go of Prowl's arm to rub a palm over his abdomen. The prospect of more overloads wasn't particularly enticing given the strong ache coming from his pelvis.

Unfortunately, they still had the whole of his back to go. Prowl helped him to roll over, the majority of his strength sapped from him now.

He lay on his front, one arm half hanging off the bench as his ventilation system whirred. "Please… make it quick, I don't have much more left in me." He groaned.

Prowl stroked his helm again and nodded, taking up his sponge again and soaking solvent across the necessary areas.

The smaller mech whined softly and shuddered, enduring the sluggish rousing of his charge once more.

The black and gold mech became bent on his task, working as quickly and thoroughly as he could, all the while trying to manage the charge so that his release would coincide with him finishing the job.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to matter how deliberately he worked up the scout's overload, it wasn't going to trigger without a fight.

And that was where the boundaries of their relationship were most tested.

Prowl knew a large range of ways to bring a bot to completion. All of them rather more intimate than he thought would be appropriate given the balance of what seemed acceptable between them. Many of which weren't even possible given the state of the smaller mech's interface array.

He knew if he offered the remaining options to Bumblebee right now he'd take them. He also knew that it would be taking advantage, because he was no longer in a state of mind where he could make decisions he really consented to.

Regret would follow, and their relationship as it was would threaten to crumble.

No, he had to do this without pushing too far into the realm of what would feel like something lovers shared.

But why else would I consider doing those things for him if I didn't love him?

The thought rose unbidden to his processor and it made him stall.

Without any touches, the charge sat heavy in his systems, slowly but surely turning the balance from pleasure to pain until he whimpered and clenched his servos against the bench.

"Ngh… Prowl… please… it's… please, do SOMETHING, I can't…"

The desperate pleading snapped Prowl out of his stunned emotional crisis and he faltered before directing the water down across the backs of Bumblebee's legs.

The mech whined and shuddered. "N-noooo… please… not, not like that… too much like… please, help, I just… I'm too weak".

Bumblebee's pleading made his spark skip a pulse in sympathy, and he put the shower head back into its bracket before scooping him up and sitting cross legged with him lain across his lap.

The scout pawed at his windshield desperately, optics a deep, dim blue. He was clearly exhausted and slightly incoherent.

"What do you need Bee? Tell me what to do, how do I help?"

Bee whimpered, shivering as the water pattered over them, too weak for his sensors now to do more than tease his charge.

"I don't… I don't know… touch me, please, just… just…" the sub-compact arched weakly and whimpered as golden digits slid over his chestplates. It felt so good, but it still wasn't enough.

Prowl tried to tease sensors in his midriff, stroked his neck and his audials, but nothing was enough.

Bumblebee let out a gasping sob and weakly pawed at his windshield, shaking like mad. It was too much. It was beyond uncomfortable, the pressure of the un-released charge feeling like it might suffocate his spark.

Something inside him seemed to trigger at the thought that his spark would be smothered by unreleased charge.

He tried to raise his head when he heard Prowl gasp and felt him lean forward, blocking the spray of water.

Looking down, he made a strangled sound of surprise. His chestplates had opened, exposing his spark to the other mech. He looked up at Prowl, who stared back with something between surprise and… was he searching for some kind of permission?

Bumblebee shuddered and nodded. He just wanted this to be over. He couldn't process much past that, beyond the fact it was Prowl and he trusted him more than anyone else right now.

Feeling his spark race with nerves, Prowl raised a servo and traced the rim of the spark casing with something akin to reverence.

He winced internally with every score in the metal he felt beneath his digit, but Bumblebee arched into the touch with a guttural moan.

Oooh that nearly undid him. But he could not let himself give in and touch the other mech's spark. The pull was so strong… the consequences would not be in any way pleasurable, but all the same he wanted it for some reason.

Exercising his considerable self-control, he busied himself with caressing the outer casing and trailing his fingers over the cables and lines that led to it.

Bumblebee writhed and gasped under the touches, crying out as he finally reached his release.

Prowl was so enthralled in watching the bright flare of his spark that he didn't realise his servos kept trailing along the rim of the casing.

The aftershocks of pleasure from the charge release didn't stop, and Bumblebee made a few desperate mewling sounds before he keened weakly and shuddered, a secondary overload crashing through him.

Prowl was sufficiently surprised by this to halt the touches when Bee went slack in his arms, whimpering.

He carefully moved him out of the range of the spray, lay him on the bench and turned the shower off. He hovered over the smaller mech, relieved when his chest panels closed over his now almost fully opaque spark on their own.

"Nnnnuh. S-Six… six is too much… Way too much… let's not… again…" he panted, laying completely strutless with his fans practically roaring. "My… my charge generator… feels like it's on fire."

"Sorry… I got distracted." Prowl apologised softly, stroking his helm again.

"You have… some kinda fixation… with even numbers or something?" Bee flopped a servo at him, clearly not mad about the extra overload, despite the pain.

"No, I just… your spark is looking a lot better." He murmured, meeting the smaller bot's gaze as he opened dim, deeply blue optics.

"Oh… so you just get distracted… by shiny things?"

Prowl smiled. "Yes, I suppose I do."

By the time Prowl had managed to dry him off with a hairdryer rather than towel (they wanted to take no chances with contaminants, but the tiny hot air machine had taken a long time) Bumblebee had slipped into recharge.

The ninja-bot had managed to remind him to turn on his suppressant codes before he nodded off. They'd been expecting it, given the exertion of multiple overloads, and made sure the scout was alright with them starting the grafting procedure while he was offline.

Prowl laid him carefully on the berth, not having brought the sheet since they wouldn't need it again until they were done.

"Not that I was trying to listen in, but that sounded particularly taxing." Wheeljack murmured, pulling clean gloves on to handle the proto-metal, which was sitting in several sealed containers along the bench.

Prowl made a non-committal sound in response, making sure Bumblebee was lain out comfortably, unsure what he should do now. He really wanted to find somewhere quiet to think, but he also didn't want to leave in case he was needed.

"You can take a break kid. We'll be fine here on our own. The less bots in here the better, we're gonna need a lot of space." Ratchet told him.

Well, having someone else make the decision for him worked. He nodded and trusted they'd call him when they were done, and headed out towards his room.

Once inside, it felt… distinctly odd to be there. He realised he'd not recharged there for over an orn. Everything was as he'd left it, spotless and orderly.

The constant rain had been testing the little gutters he had in place around the base of the tree, pushing them to their limits, but they didn't seem like they'd failed him. His room hadn't flooded, after all.

He drew a deep ventilation in, reading the humidity level and enjoying the earthy smell that came with the curious phenomenon.

Sitting on the dry side of his tree, he assumed a lotus position and offlined his visor.

He needed to ground himself, clear his mind, cleanse the tension from his frame.

He tried.

He really tried.

But eventually he had to face the fact that he was helplessly fixated.

He needed to analyse his feelings towards Bumblebee again, because all he could think about was that spark bared to him and the sounds the smaller mech had made as he-

Primus, I can't do this. I can't be making things harder for him. I should not be thinking about this, it's bad enough he has to cope with the pain, and the memories, I can't throw my inappropriate behaviour into that mix. He said he NEEDS me… if I acted on any of these feelings he'd push me away, close himself off… he'd want to leave…

He took a deep ventilation and leant back against the tree trunk, dropping his lotus position to a defeated sort of slouch.

He kept his visor off, delving deeper into the problem before him. Or more accurately, inside him.

How did this happen? When did I go from feeling a duty towards him to feeling… to wanting to… I never even saw him as a potential partner before. He was insufferable, he was irresponsible, illogical, he was…

He was immature.

The thought of that word made him cringe internally. Connotations arose in his mind, the idea that Bumblebee had only matured from his trauma because he'd been violated flashed through his meta.

As soon as the fleeting contemplation came he dismissed it viciously. No. That was an archaic way of thinking. The notion that interface, forced or otherwise, would force a bot to mature, was a very old and outdated one.

In truth Bumblebee hadn't matured from his ordeal at all, he'd just broken. His innocence… and the ignorance associated with it, had been brutally stolen from him.

It hadn't made him more responsible, it had just destroyed his carefree, fun-loving nature. Leaving him as a frightened shell of his former self.

But little bits of the old Bumblebee HAD been peeking through, giving him hope. And before the whole ordeal, the old Bumblebee had been changing in his own way. He had been maturing, slowly but surely.

The more he thought about it, the more painful the loss of what had been blossoming within the scout seemed to become.

And why was he feeling this weird kind of attraction for him NOW? When he was at his weakest, his most vulnerable? Bumblebee kept wondering if there was something wrong with him, but Prowl was starting to think HE was the one who was messed in the head.

Is it… is it selfish, to want to be near him, just to allay my own fears and anxieties? It's more than that, I want to make it better, make HIM better. And frag it all, I can admit when I'm wrong. And I was so very wrong, to think so little of him before.

The same guilt that had plagued him since the scout's capture re-surfaced. He felt ashamed for judging Bumblebee so harshly for so long. For overlooking all of the clear examples of his true nature.

He had been trained to look beneath the surface. It was one of the most important parts of being a cyber-ninja, being able to look past a bot's façade, to look deeper and find their true nature.

And yet he had always dismissed Bumblebee. Dismissed his behaviour, his intentions, his abilities.

To be fair, that had begun to change before the scout's capture. But it was too late. FAR too late.

Yoketron would have been so disappointed in him.

The thought made him hang his head, feeling of shame intensifying, and with it a strengthening of the yearning to be by Bumblebee's side again.

His brow furrowed and he focussed on that feeling, analysing it. Was his need to be beside the bot just a knee-jerk reaction to his guilt? A way of making it up to him? That was not true affection.

But… but that wasn't all there was to it. Guilt wasn't the reason he kept thinking about that bare spark, the sound of Bumblebee moaning at his touch. The flutter in his own spark when he thought of the look on his face when he overloaded.

I can't ignore this. I can't pretend I don't want to keep doing that even after he's whole again and it isn't some obligatory chore. Is it just lust I'm feeling? Some one-sided desire to cause him pleasure?

Or is that another product of guilt? Some misplaced desire to make up for his suffering by making him feel good?

Prowl leant forward, covering his face with his servos, elbows resting on his knees.

Why did this have to be so complicated? Bumblebee needed him to be in control of himself, to be emotionally whole in order to support him while his own emotions were in shambles.

How could he do that when he was fighting with himself, unable to figure out his own feelings?

He scrubbed his servos over his face and rubbed at his temples.

What would Yoketron have told him in this circumstance?

As if he was standing beside him, he could hear his sensei's voice clearly in his head.

The mind plays tricks all the time. You cannot trust your sensors. Trust only your spark. What does your spark tell you, Prowl?

Well, wasn't that the million credit question…

Prowl sighed softly and got to his pedes, looking up at the branches above him.

To hear his spark, he needed to put his mind at rest. He needed to try and meditate again.

Moving around the trunk of the tree, he leapt up onto the first branch, climbing his way up until he was on the last branch thick enough to take his weight. He perched on it with his back to the trunk once more, retaking the lotus position and offlining his visor.

The rain pattered on his armour softly, the feeling relaxing, lulling him into a calmer, more relaxed state.

Prowl drew deep ventilations of moist air through his frame, smelling the organic life. The atmosphere was thick with it. There was also a large dose of human pollutants creating a tangy aftertaste, but that just reminded him of home.

Cybertron didn't have natural deposits of carbon in the same way earth did, their oils were synthetic, but they produced about as much carbon dioxide through other means. It didn't devastate their planet because they had natural filters. Native crystals and wildlife in the barren areas that soaked up noxious gasses, keeping them at a level where they didn't start to damage or corrode them or their buildings.

He let the scents fill his mind and the patter of the rain lull him into a meditative state. He relaxed enough that his processor let go of his worries and questions and just existed, turning inward, deferring to his raw emotions and base desires… he listened to his spark.

The pulse was slow, steady, falling into rhythm with the rain.

He felt his resting state out as if it were a new environment. In truth it was an old one he just hadn't visited in a while.

But it had changed in that time.

His fundamental beliefs were his bedrock. This had been disrupted by the inability to comprehend the cruelty Bumblebee had been made to endure.

His general state of mind, his logic, was also a little hazy. He still deferred to it, the basic shape was still the same, but the shifting of his core beliefs had caused him to forego logic a lot lately.

Self-control was mostly unchanged, possibly a little shaky, but he'd always struggled with it due to his compulsive nature.

His actions of late had been… he wasn't sure if they were out of character or not, but they were not normal for him.

He drew back and looked at himself overall.

You are analysing your spark, not LISTENING to it

Yoketron's voice was so clear in his head he wondered if perhaps his mentor was somehow able to enter his thoughts from the well of all-sparks.

He did not dwell on that thought, instead following the instruction and letting his emotions reveal themselves.

He was almost overwhelmed when he realised that everything, everything about him had been changed by Bumblebee. Everything he did, everything he thought, everything he desired and hated and sought, was effected by Bumblebee.

And it was willing. His spark bent willingly towards the younger mech. Something about the revelation of Bumblebee's true nature had stirred an attraction that went far beyond any feelings of guilt, or shame, or duty.

He onlined his visor, clutching at the tree as he swayed. The realisation that he was in love with Bumblebee left him feeling light-headed, processor full of static, spark suddenly racing.

Wheeljack hadn't been lying when he said the dermal plating would irritate his sensors at first.

Bumblebee lay as still as possible. Any movement felt like unlubricated joints grinding against one another.

They had made sure to put a layer of joint lubricant between his sensors and the new proto-matter, but it didn't make much difference as far as Bumblebee could tell.

He was told his sensors would adjust and the discomfort would gradually ease and abate. For now he did his absolute best not to move an inch.

Of course, the more he thought about staying still, the harder it was.

He couldn't sleep through it because he had already recharged all the way through the procedure. They'd used a mirror to show him the work, and he had been suitably impressed.

Perceptor had done all of the welding, so it was perfect to within a micron and basically invisible to the naked optic.

However the effect was marred by the fact he really couldn't move.

On top of that, Prowl was not there.

When Bumblebee had asked after him, Ratchet had comm'd the ninja-bot and pulled a face. "He says he'll be here in a while, he's apparently in the middle of a very important conversation of some sort. Wouldn't tell me what though. By the way, you forget your comm is working again?"

The scout blinked at him and looked sheepish. "Oh… uh… actually, yes."

Ratchet just chuckled and pat him on the helm. "Not a problem. If you want someone to come and distract you for a while, I can see if Bulkhead and Sari are around. I'm sure they'd be happy to keep you company."

Bumblebee looked away, not sure he wanted to face Bulkhead again so soon after the last time they'd talked.

Ratchet noticed the scout's reaction and gave him a curious look. "Something wrong kid?"

Bumblebee looked back up at the medic for a moment before dropping his gaze again. "I went and talked to him the other day. I… it was kind of an awkward conversation. Well, I mean… maybe not awkward… but I'm not… I don't know if I'm ready to talk to him again yet." He murmured.

Ratchet blinked and his expression softened. "Alright. It's your choice, but for what it's worth, I don't think he'd be passing any judgements on you. He's your best friend, and despite how physically clumsy he is, he can be pretty emotionally tactful."

"I know. It's not about him… I don't trust myself not to break down around him again." He muttered barely loud enough for the medic to hear.

Ratchet's servo moved to his shoulder, optics kind and sad.

"Awww kid. It's alright to show that you're hurting around us. It doesn't make us think any less of you, I've told you that. Bulkhead would understand. Primus, he was worrying you were gonna drift away from him before. He didn't think he could help you and he really wanted to. You don't need to put a brave face on for him."

Bumblebee tried to swallow away the tightness in his throat tubing, unable to look Ratchet in the optics. "It's because he's my friend that I don't want to let him see me like that. I don't wanna drag him down more than I already have. It's not fair to him."

The medic sighed and shook his helm. "That's the thing kid, he's gonna be miserable whether you talk to him or not. Everyone's miserable, and it's not your fault. A terrible thing happened and we failed to stop it. It's just a case of him feeling bad because he can't help you, or because he sees you hurting. One way or another, he's not gonna stop thinkin' about you. For what it's worth, I think letting him in is the better option. He's gonna feel better if he's helping than if he's sitting around twiddling his thumbs."

The scout finally met his gaze, searching it uncertainly until he realised the medic was probably right. He knew Bulkhead would fret more if he shut him out. As uncomfortable as he felt at the prospect of losing composure around his friend, the awkwardness would only grow the longer he distanced himself.

"Y'want me to call him?" Ratchet asked softly.

Bee shook his helm. "No… no I'll do it."

Prowl had driven all the way to the ship of the visiting crew in order to use their communicator.

He'd had an irritating argument with Sideswipe once he got there, the red mech being on comm duty and quoting regulations at him before giving in.

The guardsmech had only relented to let him use the comm in privacy when Prowl promised to shout him a deluxe carwash and wax when the weather cleared up.

He could understand Sideswipe's reluctance to let him use the communicator unsupervised, given he was not officially part of the cyber-ninja corps (having never been inducted officially by Yoketron because of his untimely demise) and the red mech could get in serious trouble if his superiors found out.

Nevertheless, Prowl finally found himself alone at last, and dialled up the one bot he needed to speak to the most.

/Yo my mech, what's happenin?/.

Jazz's voice fairly floated through the speakers, but Prowl detected an undertone of stress to the otherwise casual tone.

/It's me Jazz, Sideswipe is lending me the comms. Are you free to talk? I have… a rather personal problem, I was hoping you could help me with/.

/Oh hey Prowl, yeah it's cool, I'm free. What's up? You sound kinda anxious, is Bee OK?/.

Prowl slumped in the chair, feeling at least a little more at ease just being able to talk to the other ninja-bot.

/Bumblebee is alright. As well as can be expected. He is still part of the reason I wanted to talk to you/.

/well then lay it on me man, what's eatin' ya?/.

The black and gold mech fidgeted slightly with the edge of the console as he tried to think of the right way to word his problem.

/I… While Bumblebee was having his new dermal plating attached, I went to meditate. I've been having… conflicted feelings, lately. I can't afford to be confused when I'm supposed to be supporting him, so I tried to get to the root of it…/.

Prowl paused a moment, trying to reign in the quickening of his vents and spark pulse.

/You went deep, huh? What did you find when you got into your spark brother?/.

The knowing tone with which Jazz spoke told Prowl that the other mech had been in his situation before. He wasn't sure how, and he wasn't going to ask, but it gave him the courage to answer him at least.

/I think I'm in love with him Jazz. I don't know what to do about it, I don't want to push him away but I don't know how long I can keep it from him/.

There was silence on the line for a beat before jazz gave a low whistle.

/That's a heavy load my mech. I know you usually don't come to a conclusion unless you're sure of all the facts, but… are ya absolutely one hundred percent on this one?/.

/I'm as certain as I think I'm ever going to be. It's not something I've really FELT before. I went over and over what these… reactions were that I was having around him, why I was having them, and all I can conclude, every time, is that I'm in love with him. And I don't know what to do… I needed to talk to you, there's no one else I feel could… could help me with this/.

Jazz hummed across the line in a way that conveyed sympathy and contemplation. There was a brief silence between them again as the other mech thought over the dilemma.

/Well… I don't suppose there was anything in particular that made you start to wonder, was there? Somethin' he said to ya? Somethin' ya did?/.

/Actually, yes. He… the nature of his injuries means that when he needs to take a shower, the stimulation of the water causes him to… overload. Several times. Before the dermal surgery they needed him to be spotless-/

/Aaaah I see. You're his go-to bot for helpin' out and ya realised you ain't exactly feelin' too professional about it, right? Did he give any indication he was feelin' the same way, or is it still too much for him to handle thinkin' about after everythin' else?/ Jazz asked gently.

He might have sounded calm, but internally his spark was going out to his friend. This was one slag of a complication to the whole ordeal. And not one even he would have seen coming.

/I… I can't be sure. He hates the fact that he has no choice in the matter… but he admitted feeling conflicted because he liked when I was the one causing it… that it didn't feel so much like it was being forced on him. I can't take anything he says when he's over-stimulated as a true measure of his feelings, because at that point he just wants it over and done with/.

Jazz made another humming sound of understanding. /Sounds like he's pretty damn conflicted too. No wonder really, wouldn't be surprised if the cons had tried… well… pleasure as a form of torture ain't unheard of, and considering what else they did to him, I wouldn't rule it out. You're right to tread carefully. If he DOES return your feelings, he ain't even gonna know it until he's worked through all the emotional damage. Much as it might hurt… you may have to sit on it for quite some time, Prowl. And that's comin' from a mech who usually advises bots NOT to sit on their feelin's/.

It was Prowl's turn to hum in understanding, albeit a little more morosely. /The last thing I want is to push him. But what if… what do I do, when he is ready, but he doesn't share my feelings?/.

/Mmmmm now that one I don't know if I can help you with. That, well… that happens. Unrequited feelings are somethin' beyond anyone's control. But if you want my honest opinion? I don't think it'll push him away from ya. Not after all this, not when you've been there to see him through the pit. That kinda thing makes bonds nothin'll break. It might be a little awkward for a while, if he knows and doesn't feel the same, and your spark is gonna ache, but that's life. You know how spark break feels, you'll both pull through in the end, just trust in that/.

Prowl nodded before remembering the comm was set to audio only, making a small sound of agreement.

Before he could say anything else, another comm ping distracted him, but it was internal.

Prowl took the call, spark contracting slightly when Ratchet informed him Bumblebee was awake and asking after him. He quickly made his excuses to the medic before returning to his call with Jazz.

/Sorry… Ratchet just let me know Bumblebee is awake. I'm not sure I can talk to him just yet. I hope he's alright with me not being there for a while. I'm still rather… overwhelmed, by this/.

/He'll be fine for a couple cycles I'm sure. He's started reachin' out to more than just you, yeah? I kinda hoped he'd warm to Wheeljack, start talkin' to Bulkhead again… maybe even make friends with the twins, they strike me as his kinda bots/.

/Yes, he has, so far as I know. Tentatively. He introduced the twins to video games at Sunstreaker's request. They were suitably impressed by his skill, but I don't think Bumblebee takes any real joy in them anymore, which worries me a little/.

/Apathy towards stuff he used to enjoy is normal in his circumstances. If he doesn't eventually get back into havin' hobbies of some sort or other, THEN maybe you can start to worry. Especially worry if the hobbies only consist of him obsessively trainin' to fight 'Cons. If he does that, it'll mean he ain't really coping/.

/Noted. He did try to start training again the other night, as a matter of fact/.

/He WHAT? Ain't no way he's ready for that, how'd he even do that?/.

Prowl was surprised by Jazz's disbelieving tone. /He snuck out. I was recharging next to him and he didn't even wake me. He didn't put his armour on or anything, he just… went to the training room and tried to practice. I say tried because apparently he got sufficiently frustrated by his injuries to punch a wall and crack his shoulder strut/.

Jazz made a sound of surprise at that. /Can't believe he had enough energy to throw a punch that hard. Kid's nuts, but then that ain't so out of character for him I guess. Keep an optic on that, it's worrying that he'd push himself that hard just to practice. Sounds a bit like self-punishing behaviour/.

Prowl sighed and scrubbed a servo over his faceplate. /I know. I can't tell you how many times we've tried to reassure him this wasn't his fault, but the news of Wasp upset him greatly. That's something else I meant to ask you, how is your pursuit going?/.

/ Not good my mech, not good. Little slagger is a slippery one. Every time we get close, he manages to evade the scanners or hitchhike on an FTL shuttle. Sentinel has become pretty fed up with the whole thing. Now why's it upset Bee so much that Wasp's headin' your way? Is it 'cause he's listed as the one who turned him in? He worried Wasp wants to hurt him?/.

/Not so much that… he already felt bad because he was played by Longarm into getting Wasp incarcerated in the first place. Ironhide was the one who provided extra information that keyed Bumblebee into something else critical about Wasp's behaviour. As it turns out they were in the same spark batch, and they were close until an incident had them separated. When they next met, Bee didn't recognise him. Bumblebee is convinced Wasp was furious with him for that, he feels guiltier than ever for sending him to the stockades/.

/… Well this conversation just gets heavier and heavier, man that's some wack vibes. DOES explain why Wasp's headed to Earth though. Hey listen, we tried to get a message under the radar to Ultra M about Shockwave, but we couldn't get a secure line. 'Longarm's' well and truly got all channels in and out of HQ under his optic, and we didn't wanna tip him off that we knew. We wanted to catch him unaware, but this little side mission has delayed everythin'. I'll keep trying though/.

/Please do. Bumblebee is convinced he's going to come back and try to finish what he started. He's absolutely terrified, and given what that monster did to his spark, he has every reason to be/.

/Yeah, well, I got some theories to do with that too, and Wasp is one of 'em. It may or may not allay Bumblebee's fears to know Shockwave is stuck at his desk for a while. Ultra M's gotten on his back about takin' on solo missions without consultation. While he's playin' along, he ain't gonna come back to Earth, but Wasp breakin' out all on his own, after all this time? That ain't a coincidence. That's gotta be Shockwave. He basically let him loose to come after Bee, so he must think Wasp is murderous. In which case, I'm tellin' you now you gotta be extra vigilant down there, cause if we can't catch him, it'll be up to you to keep him away from Bee/.

/Trust me, we won't be taking any chances. Primus, if we have to we can move him to the ship the others came in and go into orbit. That's probably the safest bet, I doubt Wasp could easily access the shuttle without us knowing. I'll speak with Optimus and the others about it, we'll figure something out/.

/Sounds solid, but whatever plans you're makin', do it now. Wasp ain't wasting any time and he keeps givin' us the slip, pretty sure he'll reach Earth soon, and we can't afford to keep underestimating him/.

Bumblebee was glad he'd listened to Ratchet. He had wanted, deep down, to be around Bulkhead again.

Despite the fact he still felt awkward when Bulkhead had come in and sat on the floor beside the berth. It was mostly because every part of his frame was exposed but for his pelvis (the folded sheet lay across it to give him what privacy it could) though Bulkhead was polite enough to not look him over.

Normally the sheet would be covering his whole frame without armour, but every part of him where new dermal plating had been attached was so sensitive that even the lightweight sheet aggravated his sensor array when it touched them.

Bulkhead felt just as uncomfortable as Bumblebee, neither of them sure how to deal with the intimacy of their recent interactions, but both still wanting to get back the comfortable normalcy they usually shared.

Having his small friend sobbing in his arms was one thing, but seeing him stripped with his spark nearly visible was not something Bulkhead had really been prepared for. Sure, he'd seen Optimus' spark before, they all had, but it had somehow been… different. That was witnessing a resurrection.

Bumblebee having his whole protoform so exposed to him was very different. It felt much more personal, and vulnerable. But Bumblebee had asked for his company, and he clearly trusted him enough to let him see him this way.

The green mech wondered if it was trust or just fear of loneliness that had driven Bee's decision to call him.

Ratchet had stepped out when he arrived, in need of a refuel and a chance to stretch his legs after the long surgery. That left the two friends alone.

"So… what's it feel like?... The new plating?" Bulkhead cringed internally at his own stilted sounding question. He just needed to fill the silence, break the tension. This was Bumblebee, after all, he had wanted the company and the distraction so he might as well start trying to provide it.

"It's… kinda hard to describe. It's not pain exactly. Well it is, sometimes, depending on what I move. It's more like… have you ever had your audials or optics tuned too high, and the feedback whites out your sensor input? It's like that. Like feedback if I move or if something touches the new bits."

"Oooooh yeah I get what you mean. Dang, no wonder you don't wanna move. How long until it stops being like that?" his friend responded sympathetically, relaxing as the conversation came a little more naturally.

"Perceptor said it'd be more bearable within a cycle or so. By tomorrow I should be able to move again without too much discomfort. I can't leave the medbay for twenty four hours though, they still don't wanna risk contamination, and there's a load of nanite gel under all the patches that needs time to fix up my arrays. I'm stuck here for a while." He sighed, clearly unhappy about this.

Bulkhead wanted to pat him on the shoulder, but aborted the move as soon as he made it, worrying any touch might set off the scout's hyper-receptive plating.

Bumblebee noticed the move and looked over at him. "Oh… it's ok if you touch my shoulder, that's not part of the dermal repairs, it feels fine. Just don't jiggle it or anything."

"Oh, OK… Wait, if you're not supposed to be contaminated though maybe I shouldn't touch you anyway… do you know what they mean though? What counts as a contaminant?" Bulkhead fiddled with his servos to stop himself from following the urges to reach out and physically comfort his friend.

Bee looked away sheepishly. "Oh… good point. They said it was because anything that might stop the living metal from bonding to my protoform would cause gaps or weak spots. Like making sure your edges are clean before you weld anything. I guess they mean dirt or organic stuff."

"Ooooh I get it. Yeah, I probably shouldn't touch you just in case I have anything on me. I mean I haven't been driving in a while, but no point taking any chances." Bulkhead murmured, shifting to sit more comfortably. "It was a long procedure huh? Were you awake for it?"

"Nah, not most of it. Barely feels like time passed at all for me. Apparently it was about ten hours or something? Perceptor and Wheeljack don't use earth time, they still use Cybertronian, I can never remember how many minutes are in a cycle. Gets really confusing actually." Bumblebee pulled a face, making Bulkhead laugh.

"Remember when Sari used to yell at us for telling her stuff in Cybertronian time? She thought a Breem was a minute. Every time we said something would take a few breems she wondered why it wasn't done in about ten minutes." The green mech chuckled, a nostalgic light in his optics.

Bee gave a small snicker. "To be fair, we took a while to do an actual conversion ourselves. I thought hours and cycles were the same length, it was like… two months before I realised 24 hours was how they measured one day here. Where is Sari by the way?"

"At home with her dad. I sorta convinced her to let him figure out what parts of her were organic and what parts where cybertronian. I mean you know how hard she's been fighting it, but after what's happened to you… I think she's finally realised why it's important that we know how to fix her if something bad happens."

Bumblebee nodded slightly, wincing a little when his sensors reacted. "So how's he gonna figure it out though? I thought Ratchet said he'd do it back when they first talked about it."

Bulkhead shrugged. "I guess he has all the equipment he needs. He was there when I talked to her, it was his idea to ask again. It's just scans, he's not opening her up or anything."

"Oh, good… that's what she was mostly scared of y'know. She told me once… after her upgrade. She was scared he wanted to dissect her like he dissected Megatron. That's what she said to me. That's why I didn't push her to let Ratchet or the professor figure it out 'cause I couldn't be sure that wasn't how they were gonna do it." Bumblebee murmured.

The larger bot blinked at him. "Really?... I didn't even realise she was scared. She didn't say anything, I thought she was just reluctant because she was still mad about him not telling her for all those years."

"Well, there was that too." He tilted his helm in lieu of a shrug. "I'm glad though… that it's just scans, and that they're figuring it out. I couldn't… I hate to imagine if the cons got her. It's bad enough trying to fix me when they know how to do it. Fixing her when they have no idea, I mean… they couldn't. She'd… she'd die." He swallowed to try and ease the tightening of his throat at the thought.

Bulkhead made a sad sound of agreement. "I used to have nightmares about it. I mean I used to have nightmares about everyone getting hurt or killed by Decepticons after the first time we fought them here. But mostly it was about her and you. They were the worst after that first fight when Starscream shot you."

Bumblebee looked over at his friend, surprised by the revelation. "You… you had nightmares about me and Sari getting hurt?"

Bulkhead nodded. "Still do. Except now it's more along the lines of you getting taken again… or them doing to Sari what they did to you." He murmured even more quietly.

Bumblebee couldn't help but shudder at the mere thought. No. It was bad enough dealing with the fact it had happened to him, he couldn't bear the thought of it happening to Sari.

Even as he shut that line of thought down, another one surfaced that wasn't much better.

"I… I never dreamt about that. About stuff happening to you… or Sari, or the others. I never even thought about it. I just… told myself everything would be fine. Sari had the key, the 'Cons hadn't managed to do us any real damage yet, I just… told myself they never would."

Bumblebee's voice was small, and he sounded guilty. He FELT guilty.

Bulkhead fought the urge once more to touch him. He didn't realise until he couldn't touch someone just how physical he usually got when he was trying to be comforting.

"You know me Bee, I'm a worrier. I always think about the worst case scenarios. Not everyone is like that."

Bee looked away, shame colouring his optics. "I never do. That's why I'm lying here and you're not. 'Cause I'm dumb, and I rush into stuff, and I don't think."

"Yeah you're dumb alright. So dumb you saved our skidplates." Bulkhead huffed rather agitatedly, causing Bumblebee to look at him, surprised and a little apprehensive given his gruff tone.

"Bee, don't you ever apologize for not thinking the worst. I LIKE it. I ALWAYS liked it about you, it's why I wanted to be your friend in the first place. You never thought anything was gonna stop you, you never let the bad stuff hold you back like I did. Not thinking that the Decepticons would… would do this to you, that doesn't make you stupid. Not having nightmares about it happening doesn't make you a bad person."

The scout had just stared at Bulkhead as he rumbled out the words, progressively getting more emphatic. When he was done, Bumblebee lowered his optics. "I… I'm sorry."

Bulkhead deflated at the tiny, quiet apology, wilting forward to lean on the berth. "Aww Bee no, don't, don't apologize. You don't have anything to be sorry for, just… just, please, stop blaming yourself. You didn't do anything wrong. We know you care about us ok? You don't have to have nightmares about us to prove it."

He very, very carefully reached out a servo and touched his friend's helm, trying to get him to look at him. Bumblebee made a soft whirring noise and turned his gaze back to Bulkhead's reluctantly.

"It's… it's different now, Bulkhead. I'm different. I'm not… like that, anymore. I can't be. I'm never going to be able to stop myself thinking about it when I see Decepticons… slagit, when I just see their badges. I don't… I don't even know if I can fight them anymore. I don't wanna be so slaggin' helpless but even with weapons and training I can't be sure I wouldn't just… freeze up, or run away. I don't know if you… if you'll like who I am anymore."

Bulkhead carefully stroked a digit over the side of Bee's helm, the only physical comfort he thought it safe to give him. "'Course I still like you lil' buddy. I know bots change, and I don't expect you to go back to being exactly the same. It wouldn't be fair of me to think you would. We're family. We might as well be brothers. Not gonna abandon you, OK? Not for anything."

Bee's optics dimmed and he shuddered, offlining his optics and screwing up his faceplate.

He couldn't think of anything to say to that. He was grateful, so very grateful, that he had a friend as good as Bulkhead.

But it was dawning on him that the ache he'd started to feel in his spark was once again not emotional or connected to anything they were talking about.

"I… don't think you wanna stay here Bulky."

The larger bot whirred in surprise and gave him a slightly confused look. "Wha- why? I just said I wasn't gonna abandon you!"

"It's not that, it's… y-you need to call Ratchet to come back." He grit his denta and clenched his servos, trying his best not to move. The build-up of pressure in his spark was slower than it had been the last time it had purged. But there was no mistaking it, once it got past a certain point, for emotional stress.

"What's wrong, what's happening? Bee c'mon, talk to me!"

"Something tha-aghhnn… That's never pretty".

Bulkhead started to panic a little, pinging Ratchet.

/Bee says you need to come back/

/I know, I have a remote monitor on his readings, I'm already headed your way/

/He told me I should go-/

/NOPE, nu-uh, you stay RIGHT there, he's gonna need you while Prowl is M.I.A./

Ratchet entered the medbay brusquely, looking tired and stressed. Bumblebee had his optics off and was clearly trying to supress the pain.

Bulkhead was still knelt by the berth with a servo hovering near Bee's head helplessly. He gave Ratchet a lost, anxious look.

"Slaaaag kid, your spark sure picks its moments." Ratchet sighed, carefully attaching the spark monitor to the sub-compact before he wandered over to the corner to grab an empty barrel.

"T-tell me about it" he whined, whole frame shaking with the force of the pain flaring in his core.

Bulkhead had been studiously forcing himself not to look over his friend's bare form while he had been talking to him, out of respect for his privacy. But he couldn't help his optics being drawn to the window on his chest where sparklight was visible, flickering wildly.

"What's happening Bee? What do I do?"

The scout was panting a little now, fans kicking on as he continued to try and force the pain signals down. "S-spark purge… happens… every n-now and the-nnnnngh!"

He shut off his vocaliser as the pressure in his chestplates pushed him beyond tolerance.

It was of course made worse by the fresh dermal plating pressing over damaged sensors the moment he moved.

Coupled with the hyper-sensitivity of the new plating, he was a mess within moments. Ratchet hadn't been wrong about his spark's bad timing.

"Bulkhead, go scrub your arms down in that basin and when you're done, come back and try to hold him still. He can't afford to have that new plating detaching from the anchors when we only just got it on him."

The large green mech rushed to do as he was told, glancing back at Bumblebee as he washed his servos, his own spark fluttering with fear when the scout arched and shuddered, letting out a hiss of static in place of a scream.

"What is this Ratchet? What's a spark purge?"

Ratchet had moved to pin Bumblebee on his back by laying his forearms over the top of the pelvis and across his upper chest. He only held him hard enough to stop him twisting, Bee clawing at the berth and arching weakly against his hold.

"Can't really tell you kid. Patient confidentiality. If Bee wants to explain to you later, that's up to him, but don't push him for it. You're better off not knowing to be honest." he murmured gruffly.

Bulkhead dried off his servos and tried to take over for Ratchet in keeping the scout from writhing too much.

"Can you tell me how to help him? There's gotta be more we can do than just… hold him down? How do you stop the pain?"

Ratchet gave him a look that did not instil him with any relief.

"There's no treatment for this pain Bulkhead. We have to wait for it to pass. Takes about an hour and a half, sometimes two. The most I can really tell you is that it's a self-healing process of the spark. Trying to stop it would do him more harm than good."

"If it's not damaging him why's it hurting him so badly?" the green mech asked in confusion, trying to keep his servos steady and not apply too much pressure. It was so difficult to hold him just enough to stop him twisting without pressing too hard or touching the new plating.

It was less because he was worried about contaminating it and more the fact he didn't want to set off the sensors and make his friend feel worse.

"I can't tell you that, I'm sorry. You're just going to have to trust me-"

Ratchet was cut off by the breakdown of Bumblebee's vocal control, the scout's sudden screams making Bulkhead's optics go nearly white with distress.

He'd heard his friend crying out from a distance every now and then for the last few weeks, not knowing exactly why.

It had been hard to hear even though the walls, but when he was right there…

Bulkhead was too shocked and distressed by it to think straight. His servos shook uncontrollably and he had to pull them away for fear of hurting Bumblebee more. He just stared at his friend, feeling helpless and panicky.

"I-I can't do this Ratchet… I can't, I'm sorry Bee I just can't…"

The medic turned from the monitor bank where he'd been calibrating the equipment to record the purge strength and looked at Bulkhead, seemingly startled by how distraught he was.

He quickly moved around the berth and laid his servos on the large green arms. "It's OK Bulkhead, it's alright… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you to stay. Go get Prime, alright? It wasn't fair of me to ask you to do this."

The gentleness with which Ratchet spoke to him snapped Bulkhead out of his panic enough for him to nod deftly and follow his instruction.

He tore his optics away from Bumblebee, who was still writhing and screaming in agony, and staggered out of the medbay.

Optimus sat on the edge of the berth in the medbay, stroking his palm soothingly over Bumblebee's helm.

He'd rushed over the moment Bulkhead had found him, alarmed by the state the large green mech was in. When Ratchet had caught him up on what was going on, the Prime had set to his task immediately and without question.

As much as Bumblebee's screams unsettled him, he could control his emotions in favour of staying useful. It was his nature. It was what he was trained for and why he'd achieved his rank.

He'd never been a very panicky bot. He didn't at all judge Bulkhead for being unable to stay and do what he'd done though, not given how close he was to Bumblebee. It was hard, seeing him in this much pain. Even harder to have to help him in a way that hurt him more.

The scout, amazingly, hadn't gone offline when the purge was over. Ratchet had chalked it up to his spark readings being stronger than ever, but Bumblebee wasn't exactly chipper about this.

He lay as prone as he had before, sensors overstimulated from the moving. Dermal haptic net buzzing irritatingly without even being touched. He didn't protest Prime's petting, partly because it was a welcome distraction, and partly because he just didn't have the energy.

As was usual during spark purge, Bumblebee had become lost between memory and reality. But not enough so at first that he hadn't been aware of Bulkhead's reaction to his screaming.

He had no idea Bulkhead would go to pieces seeing him the way he had. Bulkhead was not exactly a squeamish mech, but he'd looked terrified by what was happening to him.

The 'postcard' came to mind, much as he wished it didn't, and he wondered if Bulkhead had even watched. His friend had been so supportive, had wanted so badly to help him heal…

But how much of his torture was he even aware of?

Despite the fact he trusted Ratchet, Prowl and the other two mechs helping with his repairs to keep their silence about the details… it felt like everyone must know what the Decepticons had done. How could they not have guessed? As far as Bumblebee was concerned, he'd been the only one who hadn't expected it to happen to him in the first place.

But what if Bulkhead didn't even know the basics of what he'd experienced? How much did any of the others really know?

…How much was he prepared for them to know?

"Prime?"

Optimus was slightly startled by the small, crackly voice, optics moving from the monitors Ratchet had been working at to the dim optics gazing up at him.

"How are you feeling?" the larger mech asked gently, still stroking his helm slowly.

"Like slag. I was… thinking. I realised I don't know how much… who knows what happened to me? How much do you and the others know?"

Optimus blinked at that, humming shortly in response and frowning in thought. "Not all of us know the same things. I'm… aware of a lot of what happened to you, but not in great detail. If by others you mean Bulkhead and Sari… Bulkhead knows more, but not… nothing beyond what he saw in the video they sent. Sari didn't see that, we made sure of it. The mechs who came with Wheeljack and Perceptor have, but I doubt they know more than that."

Bumblebee made a small sound of acknowledgement and his optics unfocussed as he digested the information.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again. "I don't… I don't know if I could ever tell him. I don't think I could tell anyone who didn't find out on their own. I don't know how you did, I don't really care, I just… should he even know?"

Optimus couldn't help the sorrowful look he gave the smaller mech, his protective nature flaring up.

"I don't think I can say. Ultimately you're the only one who can allow anyone to tell him… it may be that you don't feel ready to tell him until you've come to terms with it yourself."

Bumblebee made a disbelieving noise and looked away, mouth pressing into a thin line.

"That doesn't… I can't. How can I ever come to terms with what they did? I'm still spewing out everything they forced into me." He spat bitterly, not looking at the Prime.

"It seems impossible, I know. And I couldn't possibly understand what it feels like for you Bee, I'm not going to pretend I could. But I do know that time heals, maybe not completely, but you'll… it will get better. It will."

The compassion in Optimus' voice made Bumblebee look up at him again. The Prime rubbed circles over Bumblebee's temples to try and ease his tension, expression soft.

"I want to believe that. I really want to, but I can't right now." The scout croaked, voice wavering.

"He's right though, kid. Don't get me wrong, it takes a long time. But it does get better." Ratchet murmured, turning away from the monitors to face them and transforming out his EMP generator.

"I have some good news for you kid, your spark has levelled out again and your sensory network is sufficiently integrated with the dermal plating for me to give you some relief. If you're gonna stay conscious, you might as well be as comfortable as I can make you." He placed the nozzle of the EMP against strategic points on the sub-compact's frame and fired a few pulses.

Bumblebee relaxed almost instantly, Optimus taking his servos away as Ratchet applied his EMP and resuming once he was done.

"Fraaaag that's so much better. I think… I think this is the least pain I've been in since… slag I don't even remember." He croaked, sounding almost drunk with relief.

Optimus smiled down at him mildly. "Should have you back in top form soon."

"Well, maybe not top form, that'll take a while, but we'll get you pretty darn close." Ratchet rumbled as he transformed his generator back into his forearm and patted Bee's shoulder.

"When your sensory network has calmed down again, which it should have by tomorrow, we can try putting your armour on properly." The medic grinned.

Bee blinked at him, surprised. "Really? Seriously? Like… fully integrated?"

"Fully integrated," he nodded, "You've got new panels and catches and the dermal plating is sealing off all your circuits safely. Actually not a lot left to fix, those where two of the biggest jobs. Anyway, you'll be able to put it on, and for the most part keep it on."

"I will be so glad when I don't have to mess around with slaggin' blankets anymore." Bee sighed, shifting on the berth to get a little more comfortable.

"Oh, slag, knew I forgot something." Ratchet murmured, picking up the one on the floor which had fallen off during his purge.

Bumblebee flopped a servo at him. "Doesn't matter, m'not cold. Might as well just walk around naked, not like I have any dignity left to protect." He murmured.

Ratchet frowned slightly, putting the blanket over his lower half anyway. "Don't think like that Bumblebee, you have a right to your privacy. I know you've ended up having to bear-all to a lot more bots than you'd like to, but that's nothing to be ashamed of."

"If you're worried we're going to see you or treat you any differently, I can tell you now it's not going to be because of that." Optimus said gently.

Bumblebee's gaze flickered up to his again, questioningly. "You do see me differently though, don't you?"

Optimus tilted his helm. "I do. But not the way you're thinking. I'm not saying I had a low opinion of you before when I tell you I think better of you now, but after all this… You saved all of us. That's what we see, when we look at you. We don't see someone broken, or incompetent, or a burden. We see the bot who made the ultimate sacrifice for us. We see the bot who saved our lives. Before, you were a bot who we knew had our backs when we needed you. Now you're a bot who has our sparks."

Bumblebee just stared at him, mouth hanging slightly open. He had no idea what to say to that. He had no idea how to react to the almost reverent tone in his leader's voice.

"He's right, kid. That's what we see. And all the bots here who've come to help, they respect you too, you know. Some of 'em are in total awe of you. Might as well tell you that Jazz is hell bent on getting you into the Elite Guard when you're well enough to train. Thought I'd let him tell you but, well… figure it can't hurt to give you a heads up." Ratchet rumbled good naturedly.

The scout's wide optics flicked between them, and he blinked. He shrunk in on himself slightly, expression turning apprehensive. "I… I don't... what if I can't be that bot anymore? What if I can't fight anymore?"

Optimus hadn't really expected his words to have this effect, and shared a look with Ratchet, who seemed to be more clued in as to why Bumblebee was not made happier by the news.

"Bee we're not expecting miracles. Don't stress out, we aren't asking you to fight again if you don't want. I'd understand if you never wanted to see another Decepticon again, but if you do ever feel ready, there's an open invitation for you to get the full training." The medic reassured him.

Optimus realised belatedly that Bumblebee had thought they were pressuring him to get back on duty. That was not at all the impression he had meant to give the scout.

Bumblebee relaxed again when the misunderstanding was clarified, nodding to acknowledge Ratchet's reassurance. But the air of apprehension and uncertainty hovered over the sub-compact as he lay there, still letting Prime stroke his helm.

It was as much a comfort to Optimus as it was to Bumblebee. He needed to feel the scout's physical presence, to show him without words that he was there and he cared. To offer what little help he could.

To Optimus it still didn't feel like it was enough, but to Bumblebee it felt like more than he deserved.

Chapter Text

"There we are. How's that feel? All the drivers installing properly? Sub-systems syncing up?"

Wheeljack hovered as Bumblebee stood with legs slightly apart and arms out a little from his body, full set of armour now completely attached.

Bee blinked, focussing on his HUD as systems refreshed and software automatically re-installed.

"Yeah, no problems so far. Just the subspace pack and weapons drivers still loading… subspace just finished. Right servo stinger calibrating… uuuuuuh left has started… right is done and nooooow left is done. Yep. Everything's done. No errors showing." Bumblebee murmured, looking up and giving Wheeljack an actual smile. "I'm FINALLY not naked anymore."

The green and white bot chuckled, patting his back and looking him over critically. "Y'know, if your sensors are feeling up to it, you could probably have a go at transforming again."

"VERY slowly." Ratchet added from across the room where he was stacking containers that had been holding Bee's armour to put them away.

Bee nodded. He felt fine to transform, since Ratchet had given him a mild EMP to dull the irritation of the dermal plating rubbing where sensors weren't healed yet.

He winced when his transform cog made a whining noise at being engaged after lying dormant for so long. Slowly he sunk to the floor, shifting and shuffling parts in a very measured way until he settled in car mode.

He wasn't sure if the slightly dizzy feeling was because he hadn't transformed in so long, or because of all the new parts, but when he changed back up to root mode, he ended up staggering into Wheeljack.

"Woooah woah easy, I gotcha." The engineer propped him up with one arm, the scout leaning against him as he reset his gyros, fans whirring away.

"Frag… That took a lot more… energy than it ever has… before." He panted, waiting until things stopped spinning before he tried to get his pedes under him again.

"Hmmm, your spark is doing well, but transforming may be asking too much of it just yet. At least now we know it's in working order, and that's important." Ratchet said as Wheeljack helped Bee to move back to the berth and sit.

"Frag I feel like I ran a marathon. Also pretty sure if I wasn't EMP'd I'd be curled up in a ball right now."

"Definitely no transforming for a while. Not if it's going to slow down the healing of those nodes. Despite your spark taking it's time to strengthen, your other readings are all coming out good. Plating has integrated without faults so far, no issues with connection points for the armour, joints and component replacements have all settled in… except for your tank, gonna hafta put another one in soon, probably after the next purge… that reminds me, Wheeljack have you done another scan yet to determine how many more of those he's probably going to have?"

"No but I can. Long as he's up for it. You up for it?" He asked the yellow bot who nodded after a moment, still panting softly. "Yeah, s'just a scan. M'fine."

Bumblebee lay back and opened up his chestplates, not particularly worried about Wheeljack getting near it again. It wasn't as if he'd see anything new if he accidentally touched it again.

The engineer came over with a bulky hand-held device which he scanned over the bared spark for several kliks.

As he did he gave the spark casing a thoughtful look. "Do you want me to make the next thing on our list filling in those scratches for you?"

Bumblebee had been watching the scanner, but looked up at Wheeljack at the question. "Uh… I guess… is it a long procedure?"

"Might be, I tend to be a perfectionist, but it'd be worth it. They do compromise circuit integrity. Plus, y'know… I'm sure you'll feel better about them not being there."

Bumblebee hummed, thinking over how ready he felt for another long surgery. "Maybe in a couple days… I just want a break from medical stuff while I can, it's… kinda exhausting."

"That's fine, there's no real rush. And uh, when you feel ready… We've got a new set of interface equipment waiting too. I know you might not want to deal with that for a while, just want to get you thinking about it, so you can gauge when you're ready."

Bumblebee nodded, looking extremely subdued when that topic was brought up. He was glad when the scanner distracted him with a ping to signal it was done.

"Mmmm. Readings are still higher than I'd like them to be, but I'd say two or three more purges are likely, maaaaybe a fourth small one. Depends how big they are. So far it seems like Bee's spark is breaking the known rules. I said that purges tend to get shorter and easier with each subsequent one, but in his case they seem to become more protracted and the level of output is greater."

"Uuuuh… what does that mean exactly?" Bumblebee asked with a confused frown.

"It means – you can close up now by the way – it means that the purges seem to be working up slower, with less time spent in the intense phase of energy exchange, but the amount of negative energy you're getting out is a little MORE than before. If I had to take a guess as to why, I'd say your spark has adapted to get better at expelling the negative energy. It would also explain how you managed to stay online after the last one."

"Oh… okay, so… it's not a bad thing?"

Wheeljack chuckled. "No, it's not a bad thing. It's actually, well, I wouldn't say good exactly because I'm sure it still doesn't FEEL good, but it's a positive sign. You're through with most of it is the main thing. Got about thirty percent excess of threshold left to go."

Bumblebee found himself actually smiling at that. Something else occurred to him that had an old itch surfacing.

He knew he needed time to get his energy back up after the first transformation, but even his brief stint in vehicle mode had his tyres twitching.

He realised he sorely missed driving.

Bumblebee sat up and let his gyros stabilize again. Couldn't hurt to ask he supposed.

"So, if my spark is stronger… does that mean I can leave the base?"

"Absolutely NOT."

Wheeljack and Bee both turned surprised looks on Ratchet, who had whirled around, fists on his hips in the most authoritative stance he could muster.

"Aw c'mon Ratchet, he's been cooped up in here for AGES, surely he can go out for a bit of a walk at least?" Wheeljack was plaintive, helm panels flashing a calming blue.

"He can walk around inside the base." Was the short, gruff response.

"I don't wanna walk, I wanna drive. I can't do that inside, and I'm not talking about right now. I mean even just doing laps around the building would be enough." Bumblebee used his most inoffensive, plaintive tone. It seemed entirely ineffective.

"Uh-uh, not yet. Not ready for that."

"Yeah but when I am-"

Ratchet shook his helm.

"I don't mean you kid, I mean US. WE'RE not ready for that. If you're out of sight for the 'Cons, you're out of mind. I don't want to risk you getting spotted by any of them at any time, not this soon. You're a bright yellow target, they've never failed to go after you on sight."

The sub-compact's look of confusion increased. "But… this is the safest spot there is right now, isn't it? There's more Autobots here than anywhere else on Earth. You guys are in and out of the base all the time, what difference does it make if I'm out there?"

"He's got a point. It's not like we wouldn't have a couple of us out there at the same time just to be safe. What's your real issue here Ratchet?" Wheeljack gave the medic a curious look.

Ratchet had huffed and crossed his arms, scowling as they defied his orders.

"Listen… I have fixed too many bots in my time who've stepped out of my medbay and been slagged within a breem. As far as I'm concerned, it's tempting fate. I'm not saying he shouldn't be getting out there and spinning his wheels once he's had enough time, but not right now and not anytime soon. I'm not ready to let him take that chance."

Bumblebee looked at the red-streaked faceplate and noticed the edge of fear colouring the deep blue optics. In that moment he saw Ratchet in a new light… he remembered the medic telling them every time he fixed some of their worse injuries that they better not leave before he cleared them, or he'd weld them to something to keep them there. And he'd always been so serious about it.

That was why. In the war he'd fixed bots who'd simply gotten up and gone out and died.

And he must have thought it was like some kind of curse… he'd fix someone, and if he let them go too soon, they were gone.

"Ok, Ratch, I'll stay. It's no big deal, I can wait." He raised his hands in surrender.

The itch in his wheels was going to bug him, but if it meant giving the medic who'd put his sorry aft back together some peace of mind, then he'd bear it.

And by the look on Ratchet's face, it certainly was a relief.

Bumblebee stood against the frame of the open door. He hadn't made any sound, and when he saw what Prowl was doing, he made sure not to, because he didn't want to disturb him.

The ninja-bot was pacing through kata. His movements were measured and deliberate, every twist of his servos and turn of his pede was precise. But the space between them, the space where one move flowed into another, that was where the grace was.

Prowl's optics were off, it was clear he was concentrating, but it looked effortless.

Bumblebee just watched. It made him feel very calm, for some reason.

In the back of his mind he was trying to imagine himself being able to do that, but he didn't think he had nearly enough grace.

It was like a dance, and he was good at dancing, but not THIS kind if dancing. He was a freestyler, not disciplined enough to execute moves with all the accuracy the black and gold mech managed to.

He still found it very satisfying to watch him, wondering how he didn't smack into any walls when he wasn't looking where he was going.

The scout tilted his helm, thinking that maybe it was because he'd practiced so much with his optics on he knew he'd never run into anything following the same moves.

But then… he remembered Prowl talking to him about feeling energy flowing through him. And around him. Maybe it was more like that? Maybe bots as advanced enough as Prowl could feel where everything was around them so they didn't need their optics?

That would be a nifty trick, but then it didn't explain why Prowl hadn't seemed to realise yet that he was being watched. If he COULD feel everything around him right now, wouldn't he have felt him there?

As if on cue, Prowl paused and canted his helm towards the door, visor brightening.

They just looked at each other for a moment before Bee gave him a sheepish half-smile and Prowl straightened from his mid-move stance.

"I didn't hear you at all. You've really improved."

The praise made Bumblebee's spark… flutter was the only word he could think of, but it was such a small, quick thing he wondered if it even happened or if he imagined it.

"Uh… thanks. I didn't want to interrupt."

"It's alright, I've already run through that Kata three times this morning. I've gotten a little sloppy, I needed to practice. Come in, please… was there something you needed?"

Bumblebee was a little surprised by how formally polite Prowl was being. He shrugged it off and shook his helm, wandering in and sitting at the base of the tree.

"No, didn't need anything. Just wondering where you were. Got my armour on properly now." He held his arms up slightly in way of showing off before flopping them in his lap and trying to hide the wince. He forgot when he was on pain relief that he could still get nasty feedback jarring sensors too much. No flopping limbs about, flopping limbs bad.

Prowl brightened at that. "Really? That's excellent, no more blankets?"

"Nope. Thank frag. I hated not being able to regulate my temperature properly myself."

A small part of Prowl's processor immediately threw up the thought that he would not have Bumblebee trying to leech heat from him in recharge again, and that he would miss that closeness.

He squashed it ruthlessly. Bumblebee's repairs and health were more important than his physical desires.

He hid his internal train of thought by redirecting the conversation. "Did they say how long it would be until you could try transforming?"

"I already did. Once into vehicle mode and back again, took so much spark energy I thought I was gonna pass out. Can't really try that again anytime soon, but at least I know my t-cog still works. Sucks too, I'm itching for a drive now and I can't."

Prowl made a sympathetic noise at that and went to sit in front of him. "How is the dermal plating feeling?"

"Good, but only 'cause I'm still riding an EMP high. When the sensors underneath aren't dull it's irritating as slag. For now though, I'm just glad I'm not at the mercy of the elements anymore." Bee sighed, leaning back against the tree and looking up into the rain soaked branches.

Prowl nodded. "That will fade though. Overall, do you feel better?"

Bumblebee just nodded, still looking up for a few moments before he turned his optics back down to Prowl. "So… where have you been? I mean I don't wanna be clingy or anything, I'm just curious. I know you need some space, that's cool… just, yeah… just wondering."

"I needed to speak to Jazz, which was why I couldn't come back when you woke up. He let me know what they've been doing to catch Longarm. Right now, he doesn't think you need to worry about him returning. He's still keeping up his Autobot façade. He does think you should be on your guard for Wasp. That WE should ALL be on our guard."

Bumblebee visibly relaxed, despite being told he should be wary of his old batch brother.

"Wasp was good, in bootcamp… but I don't know that he was good enough to get past all of you, and even if he does… I owe him an explanation. And an apology. Plus he's my size, I might still be damaged but I think I could take him."

Prowl gave him a look halfway between anxious and endeared. "I think at full health, you probably could take him. But Jazz suspects Longarm let Wasp free so he would come after you while he cannot. Which means he thinks Wasp is murderous. His animosity may well have festered to the point of obsession, or delirium. Even if you had a chance to apologize, he may not be in any state of mind to listen. I'd feel better if we just tried to keep him away from you."

Bumblebee's expression fell slightly, head turning down to the servos in his lap as he traced scratches on the backs of his hands.

"I… didn't even think… that he'd go mad in there. Probably should have guessed he'd wanna kill me. Can't blame him, s'my fault he's that way."

Prowl couldn't help but reach out and lay his servo over Bumblebee's, making the scout look up at him.

"You couldn't have known. Any of it. You may feel at fault for not recognising him, but he could have told you. Instead of waiting for recognition when he had changed, he could have said something to you, but he didn't. That was HIS choice. You cannot assign all of the blame to yourself. And you cannot tell me you could have known Longarm was playing on his animosity towards you in bootcamp."

Bumblebee searched the other's optics for the lie, but he couldn't fault Prowl's logic.

"I know… I know there's parts I couldn't help but I can't stop feeling like I could have done something to stop it." He bowed his helm again. "I wish it wasn't my fault but it was."

The swell in Prowl's spark was a mix of pity and frustration. He didn't want to be exhausted by the scout's guilt, but he just didn't know how to convince him that he shouldn't be bearing that burden. And he was aggravated by his own inability to help in changing his mind.

In the end, he tamped down all of his extraneous emotions and sighed, putting his servo under Bee's jaw and raising his helm.

"I'm not going to convince you, am I?"

Bumblebee ex-vented softly. "Probably not. Wish you could though. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to feel most of what I feel these days but I just… I've lost control, over everything. I just want to stop feeling this way but there's nothing I can do."

Prowl hummed, a flash of heat running through his frame when he had a wild urge to lean forward and just kiss the other bot to make him feel better.

No, no he couldn't do that, bad spark, bad, that was far too inappropriate right now.

He settled for leaning forward and hugging Bumblebee. The smaller mech tensed for a moment before Prowl felt tentative servos circling his middle and the scout relaxing in his hold.

"Keep waiting to feel normal again, but I don't think it's ever going to happen." A quiet, muffled voice came from against the swell of Prowl's windshield.

He squeezed a tiny bit tighter and shook his helm. "You need to give it much more time. All you can do for the moment to ease the weight of it is distract yourself."

"Nothing I do stops me thinking about it though." Bumblebee groaned, pressing his forehead against Prowl's chest.

Prowl rumbled his engine soothingly. "Perhaps it needs to be something that requires more thought… something that will take all of your concentration. Learning something new perhaps?"

His hold eased as Bumblebee pulled back to look up at him. "You mean like… what you were just doing? You'd teach me that?"

"If you'd like me to, yes."

"Isn't it too advanced for me? I don't think I even understand what it's for. The first one you taught me, the basic one, I thought it was just a way to practice punching and blocking?"

Prowl stood and offered him a servo. Bumblebee took it, since he tended to get a little dizzy when he stood from a resting position.

"Basically it's a means of practicing flow between your movements, simple or complex. It's… like a combo move, to put it in terms a little closer to what you know. In a real fight, you wouldn't necessarily just go through a kata, you'd react to what you came up against. You've done that, you know what I'm talking about. Kata is a way to improve your ability to transition between whatever moves you need to execute."

Bumblebee nodded, a light of understanding entering his optics.

"So… does it have anything to do with what you were saying to me before? About feeling energy moving inside you?"

The ninja-bot nodded. "Feeling that energy is key to attaining flow. It's almost like a-"

"Dance?" Bumblebee cut in, giving a sheepish half-smile in apology for his interruption.

Prowl answered with gentle smile. "I see you noticed that when you were watching then. Yes, it's almost like a dance, but the purpose, rather than to keep to a tempo, is to fully execute each move before starting the next one."

Bumblebee nodded. "So no half-afted moves. Got it."

The ninja-bot chuckled at that. "Normally, yes, but you can get away with it while you're just learning. Especially since your injuries may prevent you from doing some of the actions correctly."

Prowl guided him into the middle of the room. "The one I was doing is somewhat advanced, but we're in no rush, and it's a good one to practice flow with. We'll take it slowly."

The black and gold mech took up a resting stance, Bumblebee following suit and watching him.

He stepped him through each move, how it worked on its own and how it flowed into the next, giving him a few brief instructions as they went.

"That's it, yes… step left, punch, block down, punch right, block down, turn, forward… yes, like that. Just remember to keep your wrist straight so the force leaves your arm and enters your opponent on contact. Make sure your pedes aren't on the same forward facing line so you have optimal balance, and pivot… charge, kick, return, sliding into the next stance and that's it… you've got that one down."

Bumblebee put himself entirely into the moves despite being told to take it slow, and after about three breems, he had to sit down again, rubbing at his chestplates as his vents whirred. "Ugh… weak-aft spark."

Prowl knelt beside him and put a servo on his shoulder. "You did well. You're getting stronger, I don't know how long you were able to practice when you snuck off the other night, but I'm betting it wasn't as long as this."

Bee panted softly and nodded after a moment. "Yeah… actually, yeah… that was better. I wasn't pushing myself as hard though."

"I don't know, I think you were doing fairly well. Don't forget, you've got the added weight of the armour now too." Prowl reminded him encouragingly.

The black and yellow bot nodded and kept rubbing at his chestplates, wishing he could just reach into his chassis and somehow soothe the discomfort more instantaneously.

Well… not like he hadn't touched his own spark before, and it would certainly stop it from hurting, but in front of Prowl?

UH-UH, no way, not even after the ninja-bot had caused him to overload several times.

…Then again, the thought wasn't exactly… unappealing, per-say. He just… didn't think that was where their relationship was going.

No… no way, Prowl was helping him as a FRIEND, spark touching in front of someone was what LOVERS did.

There was NO WAY Prowl would ever be his lover.

…Right?

Bumblebee rested forward on his knees to hide his face, sure that Prowl must feel the heat coming off it with the wildly embarrassing thoughts he was having about the other mech all of a sudden.

He'd never even had a real relationship before, like he'd know how to be a decent partner… like he was worthy after what the Decepticons had done to him.

The shame, the filthy feeling that he tried to ignore, swelled in him again as he remembered that his spark was still tainted by their energy. Like Prowl even wanted to see him touch it, Primus he'd be disgusted.

His sudden flare of heat turned to cold, roiling disgust in his tanks and he shook his helm, making to stand up again and continue, needing the distraction again.

"I'm good… let's practice some more."

They ran through the new kata for another half an hour before Bumblebee could do no more.

He flopped down on Prowl's berth, gasping air through his vents. He'd pushed himself too hard, despite Prowl trying to discourage it, and ended up passing out where he'd sprawled.

When he came-to, Prowl had moved him to lie properly on the berth. Bumblebee looked around and saw the black and gold mech sitting against the base of the tree facing the berth.

Prowl's optics were off and he seemed to be meditating. Bumblebee wondered for a few minutes if he should try stirring him or just lay there and wait for him to finish when the other bot's visor brightened.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Bumblebee nodded, sitting up and sliding off the berth, staggering over to sit in front of Prowl. He didn't question the other's ability to sense him waking up.

"Ugh… well, I thought I was… how long was I out?... I still feel pretty exhausted."

"About two hours. You don't feel as if your spark has recovered any energy?" Prowl asked with some concern.

The scout took a moment to let his systems wind up a little more, sighing and shaking his helm. "Feels pretty fizzled out still." His helm was bowed and he shot Prowl an apprehensive look. "…Does this mean I should be uh… trying to repair it with more overloads or something? I don't really feel up to that."

Prowl gave him a sympathetic look. "I don't know, we'd have to ask Ratchet. But if you don't feel up to it, I shouldn't think he'd ask you to try. I'm guessing if recharge was going to do it, you wouldn't have woken up already."

Bumblebee shook his head. "I managed to turn on the recharge codes before I passed out, I wasn't woken by dreams so… yeah, I have no idea."

Prowl hummed softly in thought. "Perhaps you could attempt a little meditation? I find it helps me feel more invigorated."

The scout frowned, fiddling with his servos and turning his dim optics up to meet Prowl's.

"The other night… when I snuck out. I didn't hit the wall because I was mad at not being able to train properly. I was… I tried to meditate, and I was mad that I couldn't do it. Even when I really try, I just can't."

The black and gold mech gave him a concerned look. "What was your main difficulty with it? I can't always meditate either, it happens sometimes. Don't feel too discouraged at not being able to get it the first time."

The scout's shoulders slumped and he looked down again. "It's not something that's a one off, I know it's not… I can't… I can't clear my head. When I try to relax, when it's really quiet I… I can't let my guard down because it feels too much like… it's too much like that cell, Prowl, I can't do it, all the memories just come back up."

He covered his face with his servos, shaking his head, and felt Prowl's servos on his trembling shoulders.

"Oh Bumblebee, I'm sorry… I didn't realise a lack of distraction would do that… it's alright, you don't have to do it alone, it doesn't have to be silent. Come on, I'll show you another way."

Bumblebee cycled a large ventilation to try and calm himself, forcing his servos to stop shaking.

They were physically stilled when Prowl took them in his own, causing Bumblebee to look up at him, both confused and apprehensive of trying once again to meditate.

His spark-rate swooped and flitted erratically in his exhaustion. He was willing to at least give what Prowl suggested a try to make it go back to some semblance of normality.

"There's something I want to try with you… if it doesn't work, if at any time you want to stop, just tell me, and we can try something else, alright?"

Bumblebee nodded, his trust in the other bot the only thing making him even remotely at ease enough to even attempt this again.

Prowl got him to turn around and lay back with his helm in his lap and offline his optics.

Familiar servos gently cradled his helm, thumbs tracing circles over his temples.

"Do you remember anything I've told you about processor-over-matter?"

Bumblebee didn't online his optics, but his expression was one of curious confusion.

"Uuuh… not really?"

"It's alright, this isn't a test. I wanted to give you a basic overview of the theory behind it. It has a lot to do with feeling energy, which is what I've been teaching you to do."

Bumblebee nodded slightly to show his understanding. In truth he hadn't retained any of Prowl's previous explanations because he hadn't understood the underlying principles. Now that he had a grasp of those, hopefully the 'humming-trick' would make more sense to him.

"P-O-M works on the theory that one can manipulate the energy of anything around them by tapping into its frequency. Everything is made of energy, this has been known to Cybertronian scientists for vorns. But before that, the cyber-ninja corps already practiced this technique, because they had already attuned their sparks to the energies of the universe."

"OK, so… Waitwait… they only covered certain things with us in the initialization centre. Science was never something I downloaded well. Everything is made of energy?... Solid stuff even? How?" Bumblebee onlined his optics and frowned up at him in confusion.

Prowl just smiled serenely at him and kept up the slow tracing of circles over Bee's temples.

"It's all in the frequency. The frequency at which energy vibrates determines it's mass. It's all at the micro-atomic level. Humans are only just starting to grasp the concept themselves. For example, soundwaves and light waves are both energy, they're just at different parts of the spectrum. 'Solid' mass is a little different. It is effected by sonic vibrations, even though its own are not audible. The idea behind processor-over-matter is that once you can train your spark to tune into the frequencies of matter around you, you can then manipulate those frequencies at will. However, it takes an immense amount of concentration."

"Ssssoooo what's the humming part for?" Bumblebee's optics were off again, and the constant, soothing touches on his head were lulling his spark into a steady pulse.

"That's to help pinpoint the frequencies and tell the difference between all the various energies around you. You have to find resonance with the frequency you are trying to manipulate. Much of the sound I make with my vocaliser isn't even audible to other bots, or to me, but I can feel it, rather than hear it. It travels through your spark and through your whole frame. It can be quite an intense experience sometimes."

Bumblebee made a soft sound of interest at that. "Wow… this is the first time any of this is actually making sense. But uh… how does this have anything to do with me trying to meditate? You want me to try doing it or something? Cause I have the feeling I'm nowhere near advanced enough."

Prowl chuckled softly. "No, I wasn't expecting you to try it. I wasn't even asked to until I had nearly completed my training. The reason I never completed it is because I've yet to fully master the technique myself."

"Coulda fooled me. Fact you can do it at all seems pretty boss battle level to me." Bee murmured.

Prowl gave him an amused look. "Small things I can do, bouts of determined concentration, but sustained manipulation of more than one, maybe two objects? I'm still working on that. No, the reason I wanted to explain it to you is because it has other uses beyond telekinesis. It can also be used to help others control their EM fields when they are suffering from erratic spark conditions. I wasn't aware of this until I was speaking with Jazz the other day."

Bumblebee raised an orbital ridge, optics still off. "So how much does HE know about what happened to me?"

"He knows what causes spark purges, and he was with me when I first found you. Most of what he knows he deduced himself due to his experience, but he hadn't thought about using P.O.M to help you until I mention that I… well..." he faltered as he realised Bumblebee wasn't aware of his discovery of about an orn ago.

Bumblebee onlined his optics and gave him a confused, expectant look.

"That morning you woke up and found that you were leeching heat from me… I woke up in the middle of the night and found the blanket had fallen off you. I used processor over matter to retrieve it, so I wouldn't have to move and wake you. I noticed at the time that your systems seemed to even out and react positively to the frequencies I was using. I told Jazz about this, and that's when he told me it had healing applications."

Bumblebee blinked and felt slightly awkward at the memory. "Oh… uh… what do you mean by reacted positively, exactly?"

"Your engine was purring, and you relaxed. That was pretty much the extent of it." Prowl shrugged, tapping Bumblebee's orbital ridges to make him turn off his optics again.

The scout shuffled slightly to get comfortable and did as the other bot prompted him. "So… you wanna try it again or something? To see if it helps me meditate?"

"Exactly. All you have to do is lay there and relax. And if it helps to distract you from any unpleasant thoughts, you can concentrate on the sound and try to see if you can detect the interplay of the frequencies. If at any time you don't feel comfortable with this, just tell me and we'll stop."

Bumblebee nodded slightly and stilled himself, waiting. After a few moments, Prowl began to hum.

At first it didn't feel like anything special was happening. It was just humming. The circles being traced over his temples was almost hypnotic, he had to admit, but he didn't feel particularly relaxed.

The longer he lay there without moving, the more numb his sensors became, making him feel like he was sort of floating on the floor, but still the humming didn't feel like anything special.

His spark still flittered and skipped pulses now and then, which was uncomfortable, so he ignored the humming as background noise and tried to make his spark pulse even out.

The more he concentrated on it, the less control he seemed to hold over it. His mind wandered.

Maybe not thinking about it would make it easier to bear. His attention turned to his fleeting thoughts about how Prowl felt towards him. About the wild notion of touching his spark in front of him.

A nearly imperceptible shiver ran through his frame and he quashed the disgusted feeling in favour of just… just entertaining the thought enough to wonder how Prowl would react…

He'd probably not reject him outright. He wasn't nasty like that… not anymore, anyway.

But he'd surely tell him it wasn't like that between them.

And it wasn't… was it?

Why was he thinking about this now?

The memory of the last time they'd been in the wash-racks surfaced and he shivered again.

THAT was why he was thinking about this… Prowl had been as professional as he possibly could but… but there was SOMETHING there between them, something neither of them really wanted to touch.

The question of how far Prowl was willing to go to help him heal… how deep this new bond ran… the details around it, around their feelings…

PRIMUS he wished he wasn't so bad with feelings, he had no idea how to react if Prowl actually DID like him that way.

As soon as the possibility of that surfaced, he dismissed it.

No. Prowl would never like him like that. Prowl wouldn't… wouldn't love him.

He didn't even know how to love someone like that. He felt like he never had the capacity for a serious relationship, not before his ordeal and certainly not after it.

He couldn't deny that he was tainted. He knew it, even if others would tell him it wasn't the case, as far as he was concerned he wasn't worthy of affection, even if he knew how to handle it.

Trying to escape the spiralling thoughts of self-loathing before they took him into the realm of darker memories, Bumblebee turned his attention to the humming.

He took a shuddering ventilation as he focussed on his audio input, letting the deep, resonant hum wash through his frame like warm energon.

He didn't realise that he gasped, sinking into the sound as it suffused his circuits with a pleasant tingle.

It was as if the layered harmonies were clearing out the shadows around the edges of his mind.

He didn't resist it, letting it overcome him, feeling it in every part of him as if Prowl had plugged something into him and taken over his systems.

Bumblebee couldn't feel the floor beneath him. He couldn't distinguish his servos from his legs or his chassis, he was just a melted pool of ecstasy, the only anchored point of him were the spots where Prowl drew those same steady, gentle circles over his temples.

It was the most bizarre, wonderful sensation he'd ever felt. It wasn't even like an overload, it transcended overloads.

And it was completely out of his control…

It amazed him because he didn't care.

He was completely at Prowl's mercy and he just didn't care because he trusted him.

The feeling swelled in his spark and he gasped air through his vents, losing that floating sensation slightly until he calmed his fans and settled, the sound still filling his audials and resonating with his very spark.

His spark… it was so calm, so steady, he stopped being able to tell where Prowl's humming ended and the thrum of his engine and spark began, it was all completely in synch.

It was the same feeling he got when he hit a certain speed on the highway and there were no other cars and he felt as if he was flying across the tarmac.

This is what he means, finding the resonance…

He buried himself so deeply in the feeling he had no idea how long he spent floating at Prowl's mercy.

He only came back down to earth when the thumbs stopped rubbing his helm and the humming faded away.

Bumblebee slowly onlined his optics, gazing up at Prowl's dim visor and serene smile. The sight sent a residual tingle through his systems he automatically attributed to the odd experience he'd just been through.

"How was that?" the ninja-bot's vocaliser sounded somewhat strained, and quieter than usual.

"That was… that was amazing."

The breathless quality in the scout's voice made Prowl feel that the exhaustion of such a long stint of intense concentration was very well worth it.

So much so he'd do it again for him in a sparkbeat. Even if Bumblebee never felt the same way for him as he felt for the scout, he would do anything to see the light in his optics as he saw it now.

"I pride myself on my ability to reverse engineer almost anything, but I've had to admit defeat. I have no idea what it is I am looking at here Ratchet. I just don't understand how she can have a spark and energon when she has a mostly organic gastro-intestinal tract. And don't get me started on the bio-synthetic kidneys, I haven't got a hope of knowing how those work, and I am not doing a biopsy to find out."

Bumblebee awoke to the nostalgic sounds of Isaac Sumdac prattling away. He liked Sari's father, and to a degree he'd missed his presence. There was something comforting about how familiar he was with the nuances of the dumpy little professor.

He sat up and rubbed at his optics, feeling a little slow to online now that he had all the drivers for his extraneous systems running in the background of his processor again.

Normally he was barely aware of them, but the lack of them for such a long time made them stand out to him now.

Ratchet rumbled sympathetically at Sumdac's words. "I can understand your frustration professor. If something were to happen to her and we needed to replace those organs… well, I think the best we could hope for is that the all-spark energy she carries would do the job for us, because I can tell you right now I'm as stumped as you. We'd need a techno-organic specialist to work this one out, and I only know two."

"Oh? I didn't think there were any at all? Aren't most of your kind afraid of organic species?" Sumdac asked curiously.

"Most of them, yeah. But you know what scientists are like, they don't exactly DO normal. One of the experts I'm talking about I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. And frankly, I wouldn't want Black Arachnia touching SARI with a ten foot pole. The other expert is called Botanica, and she's part of the high council. Her specialty is more in organic plant life though, so I'm not sure how much help she could give us. Worth a shot though." Ratchet rubbed at his chin, looking over the scan results sprawled across the screen. "I'll send her a message next chance I get to go use the ship's comms. It might take a while to get through with all the rain though.

Bumblebee looked over them himself, curious about Sari's systems. She had a spark, just like them, but that much they knew simply because she'd started as a protoform so she HAD to have one. The rest though… humanesque skeleton made from metal, cybernetic muscle-mass, a mostly human tank… Bumblebee could understand Sumdac's confusion. It was amazing to him that Sari was even alive, how did Techtronic and organic systems survive like that meshed together?

"Ugh, are they done talking about my guts yet?"

Bumblebee turned his head and gave Sari an amused half grin as she climbed onto the berth and flopped down to sit beside him. "You're looking good as new Bee."

"Heh, thanks. I AM mostly new though, so, y'know." He shrugged. "What've you been doing?"

"Thrashing the twins at Need for Speed. What have you been doing?"

"Sleeping. I bet they didn't like that."

Sari's grin became wicked "Oooo you should have seen Sunstreaker's face. He can't understand how I beat him at a racing game when he's the one who turns into a sports car. Sideswipe was pretty bummed about that too."

Bee snorted. "They do realise that driving in a game bears absolutely no resemblance to driving themselves, right?"

"No, actually, I don't think they've figured that out yet." She snickered.

"So, you as weirded out over the results of your scans as Ratch and your Dad are?" Bumblebee glanced over at the screen again where the medic and professor where too deep in conversation about the young girl's energy converters to pay them any attention.

"Nah, not really. I mean, I feel fine. I don't care how my body works, I just know that it does. It's pretty cool that we found out I can drink weak energon though. I tried some. Don't really see what all the fuss is about, it just tastes like sweet tea with a kinda minty buzz."

Bumblebee blinked at her. "Uh… I'll take your word for it on that one. I can't really describe the taste of it, it just… well, it tastes like energon." He shrugged. "All I have to compare it with is energon goodies and oil. Energon goodies are nice, but oil has a wider variety of flavours and textures."

"Really? I don't think I can drink oil. I don't think I WANT to." She made a face.

"Mmmm, your taste receptors are different. Synthetic oil might be ok… if they could make it in vanilla flavour?" He offered with a half-smile.

Sari laughed at that. "Vanilla oil, mmmm, sounds like something the burger bot would sell."

"They already do, if you mix the patty grease with the shake." The scout offered, making Sari pretend-gag dramatically at the thought.

In their light-hearted banter they forgot themselves, Sari's hand coming to rest on Bumblebee's arm.

It was a curious sensation to the scout… a tingle ran up his frame from the point of connection like an intense scanner beam.

Images flashed across his mind faster than he could actually process them, spark throbbing a moment later and making him gasp. It happened again… and again.

The sensation was enough to leave him dizzy. He slumped back against the berth, more images flashing across his meta like someone sifting through his mind… but it wasn't Sari. That much he could feel, Sari was not consciously controlling this. A different force was coursing through him, one he recognised faintly.

It felt like the same energy that they key had always given off when it was used to fix him.

The young girl was frozen in place in contrast to her collapsed friend, tensed as intense waves of energy flowed back and forth from the point of contact.

She saw things, flitting through her brain so fast she couldn't tell much more about the memories than they were bad and she shouldn't see them. One or two lingering longer than she wanted and searing into her mind.

Data filled her head, damage statistics and repair statuses, notifications of still dysfunctional systems, most of which she didn't even have a clue what they were.

And then as suddenly as it had started, the waves stopped, and a single image floated in her mind. Two lights. Two lights linked together by a tiny, hotly glowing wire.

And then she collapsed.

Bumblebee tried to lift his helm to see if she was alright, but his entire frame felt far too heavy and hard to control.

Ratchet and Sumdac were CERTAINLY paying attention to them now, having heard their conversation stop abruptly and their frames hit the berth one after the other. It had happened much faster in reality than it had felt like to Bumblebee.

"Sari! Ratchet what's happened to her?" the professor sounded alarmed, nearly leaping from the console table to the berth before Ratchet scooped him up and transferred him over.

"I don't know… Bee, what's going on, what happened?" the medic was trying not to sound too alarmed to keep everyone calm, but inside he was freaking out a fair bit. Random collapsing of more than one person at a time was never a good thing.

"Touched… She touched me… s'all, she… alright? She ok?" Bumblebee slurred, all his systems feeling over-taxed and exhausted, as if he'd just run a mile.

Ratchet scanned them both, letting out a sigh of relief. "You're both fine… processor activity is way up, and your spark is oscillating much faster than normal, but it's slowing. Her allspark readings are through the roof too. Hasn't hurt her though, not as far as I can tell."

Sumdac was cradling his daughter in his arms, looking her over anxiously. "Are you sure she is alright Ratchet? She feels awefully hot."

The red and white mech reached a servo out to feel her forehead with the back of his finger, taking readings through his sensitive hand components.

"She's cooling… I think that was the allspark energy, must've hyper-charged her systems a bit, but she's not in the danger zone."

"Ratch… she… it felt like… the key… but it didn't fix me… what's goin' on?"

The medic turned his attention back to Bumblebee, laying his servo on the scout's helm and doing a few more scans.

"Hmmmm if I had to take a guess, I'd say it was that new power of hers… apparently, the key's ability to fix things has morphed into her being able to tell HOW to fix things by touching them. You kid, are not something she can fix… to be honest I have no idea how that's worked out, guess we'll have to ask her once she comes around."

"Nnnnwhy do I feel so slow…" he tried sitting up again, frame shuddering as he fought gravity until he flopped back down in defeat.

Ratchet put his servo on the scout's chestplates to stop him trying that again. "Eeeeasy kid, easy. Your spark just got ramped up to output about three times more energy than normal, you'll recover in a few breems. Not sure why it happened, but your spark is too low powered while it recovers to support your systems at normal speed."

Bumblebee just made a frustrated sound and frowned. "What about Sari?"

"She might take a while to come online again. Professor, you can leave her here on the other berth while she sleeps it off if you like. She uh, might need a debrief when she wakes up. You know what she was like last time. I have no idea what she saw or felt this time."

"If she saw… what I saw… not much… she wasn't in control. It was… the key… felt like the key." Bumblebee slurred, trying to push the words out faster, unable to make his body co-operate and keep pace with his processor.

"If it's alright with you Ratchet, I think I'll take her home. As much for her sake as for yours Bumblebee. If she has… seen things, from your memories, I do not think you will want her bringing them up with you until you are ready."

The scout tried to look over at the professor, somewhat surprised by how thoughtful he was.

"Doubt she saw much… but ok… and um… thanks." He murmured.

Sumdac left, carrying the slim girl in his arms, and Bumblebee felt aweful. It wasn't just the after-effects of what had happened, it was the fact that one of his best friends couldn't even touch him without it hurting them.

"I know that look kid. Don't go blaming yourself for this, it's no-one's fault. Well… no, actually, it's the Decepticon's fault, but still, point is it's not YOURS so don't go beating yourself up internally." Ratchet mumbled as he wandered back over to the berth and pat the scout's shoulder.

"What if she did see it Ratchet?... What if it was different on her end?" The sub-compact gave Ratchet a look full of anxiety.

The medic sighed and petted Bumblebee's helm soothingly, as had become habit now. "If she does, well… we'll just have to talk to her about it. Make her understand what it's like for you to recover from this, I mean, she's gotta find out eventually what Decepticons are capable of. This is a less than ideal way for that to happen, but the more prepared she is, the better off she'll be. You've said that yourself."

Bumblebee nodded, still looking anxious, vents panting as much from that as from the spark exertion.

"Look, kid, I know you're worried she'll see you differently and treat you differently, and that she's much, much younger than the rest of us, but honestly? I don't think she'll take it any differently than Bulkhead would. You and he have had a pretty profound effect on her as she's grown up. You might not see it, but you have. She's got the same values as the rest of us. She loves you, it's as simple as that. This won't change that."

Bee was a little startled by Ratchet's bald statement. He shouldn't have been, he knew he shouldn't have been, but someone else telling him that someone loved him was… it was oddly reassuring.

He supposed it was because he didn't trust his own perception of how others felt towards him, but when some bot else told him outright how someone felt about him…

They probably knew better. So he felt inclined to trust Ratchet's assessment. And he took some comfort in it. Because he loved Sari too. He realised suddenly that he loved Bulkhead in a similar way, and to a somewhat different extent, Prowl, Ratchet and Optimus as well.

And that's why he cared what they thought of him, because he loved them in his own way, and the thought of them rejecting him was painful.

He lay there silently as Ratchet pottered around, thinking more on the subject and staring at the ceiling without really seeing it.

Maybe he wasn't so inept at love? Maybe he just… didn't understand how broad it was? That there were different types…

And there were, he realised… Bumblebee wasn't even sure how he'd not recognised it before.

He had loved things before. Music, games, racing, he'd been passionate about them. But that was different to the love he had for his friends. And that was different again to the affection he felt for his team.

And that had changed too, during and after his ordeal. It had grown and morphed.

Primus, it had been the reason he'd gotten in this whole mess though, hadn't it? He'd felt strongly enough for his team mates… for his family, that he'd risked everything to save them.

And then the cold, bitter shame he'd tasted far too often descended again.

Because he remembered that question that had plagued him over and over in the darkness of his cell.

Was his love for them worth what he'd been through?

He'd said no… to himself, and himself alone, in the depths of his anguish he'd said no.

And even though he felt differently now, he couldn't forgive himself, because now that much of the pain was masked and he could try to ignore all the memories it wasn't the same…

He couldn't trust himself to give the answer that it had been worth it when he knew that he'd said no at his lowest point. Nothing else mattered. He'd regretted saving them, at some point, he'd regretted loving them enough to do that.

Oh primus, this hurt, it hurt to think about in a way so different to all the other pain he'd experienced.

He wished he was alone, because he didn't want Ratchet to see his face, hoping he could mask how his thoughts probably showed and wishing he didn't have to hide it at the same time.

Bumblebee remembered now why he was bad at spark-felt stuff, because he hated pain, and it had always hurt when he went too deep. Which was why he'd stopped going deep a long time ago, and closed off the depths of his spark to the world.

He felt things too keenly, emotions so easily roused, but just as easily burned. He didn't often trust others with them, he hid them behind bravado and a façade of shallow interests.

But he'd let his team in. Almost against his own will, he'd let them in. First Bulkhead had gotten past his defences, then slowly Optimus and Ratchet and even Prowl. And Sari, well… Sari had barely even had to try by the time he met her.

He'd kept up the act of indifference and fickleness out of habit and by the nature of his obsessions. He'd made a convincing appearance of not being terribly attached to anyone… other than Sari, and Bulkhead to a degree… and what for?

In the end it had just made everyone more surprised by his determination to protect them. He'd even surprised himself. He'd kept up the façade of nonchalance for so long, he'd even convinced himself he was emotionally unattached.

But now… there was no way he could deny how he felt about them. There was NO indifference from him, no distance, no nonchalance or shallowness.

He was in deep and there was no denying it.

Especially, he realised, with Prowl.

Now that… that was where things got even deeper.

Bulkhead and Sari were like siblings to him. Ratchet and Optimus like concerned creators (or so he assumed, having never had progenitors). But Prowl, Prowl had moved past the realm of sibling and into something far more intimate.

And it wasn't the same as a best friend… because the candidness he shared with Prowl wasn't the same as what he had with Bulkhead.

There were things he would tell Prowl now that he never wanted to tell Bulkhead. And it wasn't that he didn't trust Bulkhead enough to tell him… it was because it felt like bearing too much of his spark to the green mech would damage what they had. But with Prowl, it seemed only to strengthen their bond.

And that was weird. He didn't understand it at all, he just… it was something he could feel. Things that he felt wrong about telling Bulkhead he felt right about telling Prowl.

And he knew, he knew he could never ask Bulkhead for the kind of help he'd asked of Prowl.

He couldn't even imagine asking Bulkhead to help him overload… even the thought made him cringe with embarrassment.

So why was it that thinking the same thing of Prowl had his spark fluttering in a weird kind of anticipation? He couldn't tell if it was nervousness, anxiety or… or if he just LIKED the thought. Did he like the thought?

Oh slag, he did.

And then his mind started running away on him.

What if he faced his memories, pushed through them and got himself fully repaired… what if all the marks of his… his debasement, by the Decepticons… by Shockwave… what if they were removed? And he was whole again?

And what if…

What if he asked Prowl to help him start over?

He felt his face burn, but there was no denying the thrill in his spark at the prospect.

Primus, when had this happened?

When had he fallen for Prowl?

Sari went back to the base the next day. She wasn't planning on talking to Bumblebee though, she wanted to talk to someone else.

Someone who might be able to give her answers.

Someone who might be able to tell her what her strange vision had meant, and ease the sick feeling in her spark.

And she found Prowl much more easily than she thought she would.

He was in his room, pacing, and looked up with surprise when she walked in.

"Sari?... Bumblebee's not here at the moment, he's in his room talking to Wheeljack-"

"That's OK, I actually came to talk to you."

He blinked at that, ceasing his pacing and standing to face her. "Oh? What was it you wanted to speak with me about?"

She walked into the room, moving to sit on Prowl's berth as he gestured her towards it. He followed and sat with her.

"It's about what happened yesterday… about what I saw when I touched Bee."

She noted the apprehension in his face as he shifted, trying to get comfortable beside her and still his restlessness.

"Ah… I'm not… sure I should be speaking with you about that. If you saw his memories, I don't really think it's my place to speak about them with you."

"It's OK, I don't really wanna talk about the memories so much… I wanted to ask you about… visions." She had grown a little quieter as she spoke, fiddling with her sleeves and not looking at him.

"Visions?... Did you see something you don't think was a memory?" Prowl frowned, curious despite his better judgement.

Sari nodded. "Unless Bee remembers two lights really, really vividly. With a little wire between them."

The black and gold mech's frown deepened in confusion. "Two lights with a wire between them?"

She nodded. "I know. Weird, right? It was the only thing I saw clearly, right before I passed out. Everything else was kind of a blurr. I mean… I saw some stuff… not a lot, but, e-enough…"

Prowl didn't need to see her face to know now that she was crying, as hard as she tried to hide the waver in her voice.

"Oh, Sari… come here…" a servo on her back was all the prompting she needed, climbing into Prowl's lap like a youngling and curling up against him. "Tell me what you saw?"

She sniffed, rubbing at her nose to try and stop the leaks before they could really start. "I… it really wasn't a lot but… but I saw a jet, like Starscream, but with horns, and he was… he was burning him… he was melting his plating… a-and I saw one of them cutting into him with a knife thing, like the ones that come out of my arms… and I…"

She choked, tears streaming now out of her control as that one brief scene flitted through her head, making her insides feel like they were made of ice. She screwed up her face and shook her head, pressing herself against Prowl.

The ninja-bot petted her back soothingly and made a sympathetic sound. When he spoke, it was so very gently. "Sari… tell me what you saw. I already know what happened to him, but I need to know what you know."

"I… he… this big…. 'c-con… he was… he… how could he do that to Bumblebee? Why did he r-rape him Prowl? Why would he d-do that? It hurt him so much, there's nothing I can do to fix that, n-nothing…" She dissolved into hard sobs, shaking with the force of them as Prowl cradled her and made soothing sounds.

He let her grieve for her friend for as long as she needed to, her crying only quieting after a good few breems.

Prowl noted she had only said she'd seen ONE Decepticon violating him in the memories. He didn't have the spark to tell her how much worse than that it was, not when she was already so distraught by the discovery. He didn't think she could handle the full extent of it.

And he shuddered to think how distressed Bumblebee would be when he found out that she'd seen that.

Nonetheless, he comforted her, waiting until she had exhausted her tears enough to speak again.

"He is finding it hard to cope with. But he's doing what he can. No one can fix something like this in an instant Sari. No-one expects you to be able to, not at all… you must understand though, that what they did to Bumblebee… it is… most Decepticons have very few qualms with doing such things to anyone. Even their own sometimes. You need to understand that this is why we have always been so wary of them. It's why we're at war with them."

"Did… did Bee know that was going to happen to him?" her voice was shaky, incredulous, horrified to think that her best friend would have run headlong into that situation.

"No. He had no idea. And to be fair, no one ever warned him just how far Decepticons are willing to go to get what they want. Bumblebee… never, ever wants that to happen to you. He didn't want you to know what happened to him, but at the same time, he didn't want you to make the same mistakes. You can probably see now why he didn't want to tell you."

"I… what do I say to him Prowl? I don't want to make him feel worse, I know he didn't want me to see it, but I… I can't stop thinking about it, I just want to do SOMETHING to make him feel better but there's nothing… I don't… I don't know what to do. I don't think he'll ever want to see me again…"

Her voice cracked, fresh tears running down her overly-warm face as Prowl ran a servo over her head.

"No, Sari, he doesn't hate you… of course he wants to see you again, he wants to know you're alright. If you want to help him, the best thing you can do is just be there for him, alright? Be there and be yourself. Show him that it will get better, because it will, but only if we're there to get him through this." He murmured, feeling his spark ache for her.

She was far, far too young to bear this kind of grief. She'd been through enough with the turbulence of her personal changes, and the breakdown and rebuild of her relationship with her father.

Dealing with memories of torture that even thousand year old cybernetic beings could barely cope with? That was asking far too much of her.

He let her sit in his lap and sob for as long as she needed to.

Bumblebee lay on his berth. It was a bizarre feeling, being alone in his room again. It felt…

It felt wrong.

The room just didn't feel like it was HIS anymore, too full of artifacts of who he'd been before…

Before he was…

He couldn't even bring himself to say it in his head. He sighed and rumbled his engine softly.

Bumblebee had been thinking over his feelings for Prowl. Trying to figure out what to do about it, coming up blank every time he approached the issue from a different direction.

Eventually he had to admit to himself that he couldn't keep this in. he needed to tell SOMEONE. He needed ADVICE.

It had to be someone who had experience, but who wasn't so close to him that it would cause an awkwardness between them for a long time.

It also had to be someone he could trust, someone who he knew wouldn't go blabbing about it to others. And they had to be the kind of bot open to talking about this sort of thing, someone helpful, someone understanding…

Someone like…

Like Wheeljack.

He actually slapped his palm to his forehead. Wow, it was incredibly obvious, and yet he'd been laying there wondering the same thing over and over for at least half an hour.

/Hey, Wheeljack? It's me Bumblebee/.

/Oh hey Bee! What's up?/

/Sorry if this is a bad time but… would I be able to talk to you? If you're busy, don't worry about it, it's nothing important/. He almost immediately regretted comming the engineer. Like he'd WANT to talk about this kind of thing.

/No no, not busy. Primus, I'm bored out of my mind actually. I'll head over there now./

Wheeljack felt his spark contract slightly, despite his chipper tone.

This must be it… Bumblebee wanted to talk about the memories with him. Ooooh this was going to be messy. He made sure to grab a few cubes of energon to stow in subspace, talking was always easier over fuel.

He'd tried to prepare himself for this, but nothing could stop his nervous tension from rising. He needed to NOT go to pieces, that was the key. If he didn't stay strong he'd just end up a bawling mess alongside the smaller bot.

And he was supposed to be the support here, not extra baggage.

When he reached the base he pinged Bee for his co-ordinates, not too surprised when Bee said he was in his own quarters.

Place of familiarity, of comfort…

Oooh his was going to be a long and difficult talk.

Wheeljack prepared himself mentally and wandered in with a kind expression, closing the door behind him.

"Heeey Bee, what's up?"

Bumblebee was sitting on the edge of his berth, looking distinctly uncomfortable and fiddling with his servos. He shot Wheeljack a nervous half-smile.

"Hi 'Jack… I um… I was hoping you could help me with something. It's… uh…" he rubbed at the back of his neck. How was he supposed to brooch the subject? How was he even supposed to start a conversation like this?

"It's OK, I know Bee." Wheeljack wandered over, sitting beside him.

Bumblebee blinked and looked up at the other mech, shocked.

"You wh- you know?... How? I only just realised it, I mean… frag, is it obvious to everyone BUT me?"

Wheeljack blinked back in just as much shock. "Uh… hang on… maybe I don't know… I may have gotten my wires crossed here, didn't you want to talk to me about… y'know… the memories?"

The two of them just stared at each other for a few moments while their processors stalled, trying to figure out where each other's head was at.

"I, um… no… no I didn't wanna talk about that… well, not yet anyway. Primus, for a second there I thought you were saying you knew I had feelings for Prowl." Bumblebee murmured sheepishly, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck again.

The engineer's helm panels flashed a surprised green from their former muted blues.

"Oh… Oh… Uh, well… I guess I kinda saw that one coming? From experience, extremely deep bonds can form out of post trauma care… but uh, yeah, wow, OK. I was psyching myself out there, heh. Well, as Jazz would say… lay it on me mech, what's eatin' ya?"

Bumblebee snuck him a small smile at that. "Heh. You do a good impression of him. I um… I guess I just… I need advice? I don't know what to do about it, the whole… thing. I'm really bad at this, at feelings. I don't… I've never been in love with someone before, not like this, I want to make sure I'm actually feeling what I think I'm feeling."

Wheeljack rubbed at his chin ponderously. "Hmmm. Well… I'm no expert, but I think I can help. What is it exactly that you like most about him?"

Bumblebee fiddled with his servos, biting at his lip-plate. "I don't know… I just… I think about him almost all the time. The way he looks at me when he thinks I can't see him, the way he touches me, the sound of his voice, I just… he makes me feel good. When I'm around him, I feel alright. When I'm not it's like… like everything is wrong."

Wheeljack's helm panels faded from green to a soft blue again as he thought over that. "Were you physically or emotionally attracted to him before you were captured?"

Bumblebee shrugged. "Well, uh, kinda? Maybe? I mean he's hot, obviously, anyone would see that, it's just a fact, y'know? He looked even better in his cybertronian form, but still, I was never really emotionally attracted to him. Actually he kind annoyed the slag outta me, because he was always so dismissive and full of himself in that quiet 'I just know I'm better than everyone else' way. I thought he hated me. I didn't want him to, I tried to be friendly, but he can't take a joke… well, he couldn't, before. It's weird because he's so different now. He's not the same to me at all."

"How has he changed? Is it that he acts differently in general, or that he just acts differently towards you?" Wheeljack's tone was curious.

He really hadn't had much of an idea of the team's dynamic prior to the scout's capture. To help Bumblebee tell if he was just infatuated or actually in love, he needed some frame of reference to work with.

"Mmmm… no, he's the same, mostly. He's loosened up since we first met him but he's not acting completely out of character or anything. He just treats me differently. He… he respects me now… I don't think he did before. I don't really think he should now, I'm not proud of what I did and I don't think anything I did is respect worthy, but… the way he looks at me, no one's ever looked at me like that. He doesn't seem to notice what's wrong with me, he cares about me more than anyone ever has. He cares enough to do insane stuff like… like dealing with my purges and helping me get through the showers and teaching me how not to suck at fighting when I can't even practice for more than a breem or two at a time."

Wheeljack noted that Bumblebee's voice took on an tone that spoke of an ache in his spark, and he realised that the scout, even as he spoke of all the things Prowl did for him, the things he couldn't believe the other mech was willing to do for him… he was afraid of this new attraction.

As if Bumblebee knew where Wheeljack's train of thought was going, he looked up at him anxiously. "I… It's more than that though… I keep thinking about things I wanna… y'know, do with him. Things you only do with someone you're with. I never thought about him like that before."

He looked away again and a shadow seemed to pass over his optics. "…what if I told him that and he… rejected me? What if he doesn't see me like that?"

Wheeljack shifted over a little more and put his arm around the smaller mech's shoulders.

"Well, to be honest, with the way I've seen him looking at you, and the things he does for you unflinchingly… I'd say he'd be stupid if you told him and he was surprised. I know you're afraid it would ruin things, and he'd start distancing himself… but I don't think he would. Even if he isn't IN love with you, he still loves you. I can see it plain as day when he's around you."

Bee looked up at him with a surprised but doubtful expression. "Really?... I thought that was mostly pity…"

Wheeljack shook his head. "Nah, no way. I mean, yeah, there is that, mostly when you're really hurting and he can't do anything for you. But the rest of the time, all I see from him is protectiveness and affection. To some degree, he loves you. And by the sounds of things, what you're feeling for him is love too."

Bumblebee curled against Wheeljack's side slightly, looking anxious. "How can you be sure? What if I'm just clingy because he saved me and it's like some kind of… like a condition? Part of the post-traumatic thingamy-whatsit? How do you figure out if it's that or if it's real?"

"You mean an unhealthy psychological dependence disorder of some sort? I highly doubt it. Usually with post trauma disorders you present substance dependencies, or obsessive compulsive traits as a failed means of coping. I haven't really heard of disorders involving a bot being unhealthily attached to another after an ordeal… if anything, most bots have trouble with any kind of socialising or relationships after the kind of stuff you've been through."

Bumblebee listened quietly and digested the information. It was both uplifting and terrifying, because on one servo it meant his feelings weren't some by-product of his damage, they were real. But on the other servo… that meant he had to deal with them as real feelings and he was terrified of rejection.

Wheeljack didn't seem to think that Prowl was the kind of bot to distance himself if he didn't share the same feelings though… and despite the fact Bumblebee had known Prowl longer, he couldn't help feeling that the engineer probably knew better, having the benefit of an outside perspective, with no history or bias with either of them.

"Do you… do you think I should tell him then? How I feel?"

Primus he hated how much his voice shook.

Wheeljack hugged him a little tighter against his side, helm panels glowing a soft yellow.

"I think it's worth a shot. I don't think you've got anything to lose, really. Look at it this way… if you don't tell him, it's gonna be one more thing you'll be carrying around inside you that's going to weigh down your spark, and I KNOW you've got too much of that already. And you've come so close to death, why waste time? You've got a second chance, might as well just go for it and see how it plays out."

Bumblebee was silent again as he mulled over his options. The doubt still gnawed on the back of his mind, and he worried his bottom lip with his denta until the sensors tingled uncomfortably.

"I just… I need to be sure that I know it's really love. I don't have any good internal frames of reference here."

The engineer rumbled softly, making a thoughtful noise. "OK, well, answer me this. Do you like who he is? As a mech, his personality, his morals, his habits, do you like them?"

Bumblebee thought for a moment before nodding.

"And do you want to know more about him and be around him and talk to him? Does he make you happy?"

The scout paused again to mull it over and nodded.

"Are you able to function when he's not around? I mean, it looks to me like you are, but I'm asking because if you felt like you couldn't handle not being near him at all you might actually have a dependence disorder."

Bumblebee nodded tentatively. "I… after a while I feel like I need to be around him again, but I don't wanna crowd him, he needs space. I'm not exactly light work." He murmured, shame creeping into his voice.

Wheeljack rubbed his shoulder in a comforting way. "Aw, don't say that. The fact you think about him needing space and that you're not a mess when he's out of sight means you're fine on that front, you don't have a dependence disorder. Now, last question, and this one clinches it because it involves trust, and feelings you only get for bots you're REALLY into…"

Bee looked up at him expectantly. Wheeljack's helm fins beamed a soft pink. "Do you think about doing spark stuff with him?"

Bumblebee felt his faceplate heat up and gave him a deeply embarrassed look before nodding.

Wheeljack pat his shoulder. "Mech, there's no circuit-boards about it. You're in love."

Jazz stepped out of the ship and took a deep ventilation, smelling the unique earthy particles of the organic planet. Rain pelted his plating, and it felt glorious.

He loved this planet.

He just wished he could be here under better circumstances.

"I hate this planet." Sentinel groused as he stepped down beside him, slouched and clearly irritated by the whole ordeal that was Earth's weather.

"C'mon SP, let's just focus on finding the fugitive, hopefully it'll distract ya from the free carwash."

Jazz's superior shot him a glare acidic enough to melt steel, but Jazz merely grinned in that good-natured way that diffused the Prime, Sentinel rumbling and morphing from aggravation into begrudging tolerance.

"Yeah yeah, c'mon. First we need to get to that poor excuse of a base to let them know we couldn't catch the slagger before he got here."

The black and white bot nodded, transforming and heading off ahead since he could drive on slick roads, Sentinel following on foot.

/Yo Prowl, heads up. We're back on terra firma and comin' to the base. Need you to get Optimus to call everyone in for a briefing./

/Jazz, I didn't expect you back this soon. I take it Wasp has reached Earth?/ Prowl frowned slightly. He had been sitting in his tree meditating, Bumblebee asleep on his berth after another brief kata training session.

/We think so. We kinda lost him on his way here and we thought we'd better come and try to head him off/ Jazz responded, tone darker than normal.

Prowl made a noise of acknowledgement. /Surprised Sentinel didn't agree to do that as soon as you knew he was heading towards Earth./

/Are ya really that surprised?/ Jazz asked with an edge of wry amusement.

/Hmmm. Actually, no. I shouldn't be. I'm going to go get Optimus and the others. What's your ETA?/

/Me, about a breem. Sentinel, about three/ Jazz definitely snickered this time.

/He STILL hasn't learnt how to drive in the rain?/

/Nnnnope/.

Bumblebee felt distinctly awkward. He was sat on the lounge next to Bulkhead, Prowl leaning on the arm of the couch on his other side. Ratchet was next to Prowl, and the rest of the Autobots were standing or sitting around the TV area, even Wheeljack and Perceptor had come into the meeting. All attention was on Jazz, Sentinel and Optimus, who stood in front of the offline TV.

"Wasp has probably reached Earth by now, so we need a game-plan. We gotta co-ordinate here to make sure he doesn't reach Bee." Jazz spoke in a serious, authoritative tone Bumblebee was unaccustomed to hearing him use.

To be fair, he was ranked a Minor, he just never used his title. Bumblebee sank down in his seat slightly when he was aware of several pairs of optics turning his way, Jazz's visor meeting his optics in a kind way.

"This cat ain't playin' around, so neither can we. He's fast, he's crafty, and he's not afraid to turn and sting when provoked. We're gonna split into teams and create a perimeter, but we're gonna make it look like we're protecting the ships. Wasp is gonna think that's where Bee is, since the ships would be more defensible, it'd make sense for him to be there, but he's gonna stay here. Y'all diggin' so far?"

All heads nodded and there were a few murmurs of understanding, despite Jazz's slightly confusing colloquialisms.

"Excellent. Now, we're gonna make it LOOK like we're guardin' the ships, but make no mistake we'll be protectin' ya Bee. The idea is to lure Wasp to the ships so we can catch him there. Jet twins, ya gonna be our eyes in the sky on the whole thing, you'll be using the five point patrol pattern."

"Ay-ay Jazz sir!" The two piped up in unison, saluting their superior.

"Speed twins, you're gonna be on the outer perimeter, three mile radius around the flagship and passin' right by this base."

"Got it." Sunstreaker nodded.

"Are we allowed to break the speed limit for this or no?" Sideswipe asked tentatively.

"Nope. Only in the case of an emergency or in pursuit, in which case you gotta get the flashing light thing out that we gave ya." Jazz shook his head.

Sideswipe looked disappointed, and Bee couldn't help but shoot him a look of mild amusement.

"Prowl, Optimus, you're gonna be with me doin' stealth patrol between the ships and the base. We need to keep our optics peeled without lettin' Wasp know where we are. Sentinel is gonna be with Rodimus and Brawn doin' scramble patrol, you guys will be lookin' for Wasp in an obvious but random search pattern. Gotta keep him on his toes."

All bots mentioned, save for Sentinel, nodded their understanding. Rodimus looked pleased to have gotten a job that involved being in amongst the action.

"Ironhide, you'll be staying here with Wheeljack to hold the base and keep a lookout for wasp on the security feeds. You can both sort out between you who's on monitors and who's keepin' watch. Ratchet, you're gonna be with Perceptor on the ship waitin' to ambush Wasp if we manage to lure him in. We wanna bring him in soft, put him in medical stasis and restraints to get him back to Cybertron. Bulkhead, you're gonna be patrolling a close perimeter to the ships. If you're over there, it's more likely Wasp will think that's where Bee's at. Hotshot, you're partnering him."

There was another round of nodding, and Bumblebee blinked, tilting his helm and turning to look at the mech that was going to be partnering his friend. Hotshot? He'd not even seen him around the base, when had he come in?

The other mech noticed him looking and gave him a small wave, which he responded to with a bemused half smile. /Bulkhead have you even met that guy?/

The large green mech inclined his helm towards the scout slightly. /Who, Hotshot? Yeah, I've done one or two patrols with him. He came with Rodimus Prime and the others, he kinda reminds me of you. But with flame-throwers/.

/He has flame throwers?... Man that's pretty cool/

Bulkhead couldn't help but grin. There was the Bumblebee he remembered peeking through again.

/I know right? You probably haven't seen him much 'cause he's been on ship guarding duty most of the time/.

/Ooooh/.

"Everyone set? Alright then cats, let's get this show on the road, no time to waste." Jazz clapped his servos together and the room became a buzz of activity as each team conversed and headed to their designated duties. Bulkhead patted his shoulder in way of reassurance before he headed off with the bot Bumblebee hadn't even met.

Bumblebee suddenly felt nervous. He hadn't really been told what HE was meant to do.

As if reading his processor, Jazz wandered over to him and knelt down to get on his optic level. "You alright Bee? I know this is gonna feel kinda tense for a while. We can't be sure how long it'll take for Wasp to show, if he does at all, but we'll be doin' our best to keep ya safe, alright? ALL of us will."

Bee blinked, feeling embarrassed by the fact he was the centre of this whole operation and still essentially useless.

"Isn't there anything I should be doing to help? Watching monitors? Sentry duty? Something?"

"Bee, the best thing you can do is keep your head down and stay as incognito in here as possible. The less sign of your presence here, the less likely Wasp is to come lookin' for ya here. Ah know it's tough doin' nothing in this situation, but in this case, it'll be the best you can do to make the plan work." Jazz explained.

Bumblebee tried not to look too frustrated and nodded.

"We'll still have our comms open. If you need any of us, don't hesitate to call." Optimus reassured him, putting a servo on his shoulder.

The scout nodded and the three made to leave.

"Wait, Prowl, can I… talk to you for a sec? Before you go?"

Oh frag what am I doing… do I really wanna do this now?

Prowl gave him a slightly surprised look, glancing at the curious looking Jazz and Optimus. "Go ahead, I'll catch up."

They nodded and said their goodbyes, leaving Bumblebee and Prowl mostly alone. Wheeljack and Ironhide were standing over at the monitors ignoring them while they debated who was patrolling and who was watching the screens.

"What is it you wanted to talk to me about?" Prowl asked softly.

Bumblebee felt his spark oscillating far too fast.

Oh slag this was a mistake, I can't tell him before he goes out on patrol, he'll be too distracted… what do I tell him then, why else would I ask to talk to him…

"Bee, if you were going to ask me to make sure that no one hurts Wasp, it's alright, I'm already going to be doing that."

Bumblebee was extremely relieved by Prowl accidentally giving him an out. "No, I mean… yes, thanks… I mean… what I wanted to say was, well, it was more of a question. Do you… do you really think he'd want to kill me?"

Prowl put a servo on his shoulder and his expression saddened slightly. "Given how long he was in the stockades? I'd have to say yes. He's not going to be anything like how you knew him before. We're all taking this seriously, even if it's one bot and he's not highly trained."

Bee nodded, looking down. "Right. I mean… you're right. I'll make sure I keep my head down, just in case. Just… be careful out there, OK? I wanna talk to you about some stuff when you get back. Important stuff." He murmured.

Prowl gave him a curious look and patted his shoulder. "Alright. Try not to worry too much, I doubt Wasp will have much chance of doing me any damage. Like Optimus said though, if you're worried about anything, just comm alright?"

Bumblebee nodded.

And just like that, Prowl was gone, and he was sitting in front of a blank TV screen feeling like his tank had bottomed out and wondering how the slag he was more anxious about telling Prowl how he felt than he was about the prospect of Wasp trying to kill him.

Chapter Text

"Fer the last time, AHM the one who's gonna be on Patrol." Ironhide rolled his optics, crossing his arms.

"Why huh? You think cause I'm an engineer I can't hold my own in a fight?" Wheeljack seemed to puff himself up, helm panels flashing red.

Ironhide raised on orbital ridge. "Now did ah SAY that? No. I didn't. And there is one simple reason I'm gonna be patrolling, and it has nothin' to do with your abilities, it has to do with MINE."

To prove his point, he engaged his sigma plating, Wheeljack's helm panels flashing white, optics wide.

"Uh… OK… yeah, you win, I'll do monitors."

The engineer sat at the monitor bank with a sigh, Ironhide disengaging his silver super alloy and throwing Bumblebee a wink before strolling out the door to walk along the base's perimeter.

Bumblebee gave him a weak half-grin in return, expression falling the moment he looked away.

He got up to wander over to the monitors and take a look at the feeds, seeing the rest of the teams flit through some of them on their way to their duties or starting their patrols.

"Sorry for eavesdropping Bee… but I think you did the right thing, waiting to tell Prowl. I know I said the sooner the better, but in this case backing out was wise. Nice save on that by the way." Wheeljack murmured, turning his helm enough to give him a kind smile.

"Yeah, I just… I worry that not saying it now means something will happen to him and I won't ever be able to. Knowing my luck." Bumblebee murmured.

"Aww, don't think like that. He'll be fine, he's got one of the safer jobs. Plus he's not a target, you on the other servo are. I'm more worried something could happen to you before you could tell him, Primus forbid." The engineer's helm panels pulsed a dull green.

"Primus wouldn't forbid it, he'd probably have a good laugh. If he even existed." The scout murmured.

Wheeljack winced internally at his slip of the glossa. He knew from his glimpse into Bumblebee's state of mind that any scrap of belief in their creator as a kind god had been destroyed by what he'd been through.

He couldn't blame him though, as painful as it was to think something as fundamental as his spirituality had been stripped from him. Personally, he couldn't find it in himself to deny the existence of Primus.

But he certainly found himself questioning their creator's moral compass.

"So… are you an atheist now? Not judging by the way, just wondering." Wheeljack asked tentatively.

Bumblebee shrugged, still gazing over the monitors with a slightly anxious expression.

"I don't know. Maybe? I guess… I just believe what Prowl's been teaching me. About everything being made out of energy. Is believing in science the same thing as Atheism?"

"Nnnno not quite. I mean I know a couple scientists who are Atheists, but considering the evidence we have that the well of all-sparks exists in some form, they're an exception to the rule. I still believe in Primus, I'm just really, really unhappy with him right now. What exactly HAS Prowl been teaching you? I wasn't actually sure if he believed or not. Typically cyber-ninjas are pretty spiritual."

Bumblebee drew up an oil barrel and sat beside him. "He was helping me learn how to meditate the other day. That was… probably the closest I've ever come to a real spiritual experience in my life. Beyond Sari healing me with the key the all-spark infused with energy."

"Yeah Ratchet was talking to me about that the other day. The key, I mean, and what happened when Sari used it on herself. But I digress, you were saying? Meditation huh? Sounds good. Also the 'everything is made of energy' thing you mentioned before, that is well known scientifically. Never realised it'd be basis for spirituality though, I kinda thought stuff you COULDN'T explain was were religion typically lay."

Bee glanced over at Wheeljack, who seemed surprisingly intrigued and genuinely interested.

"I would probably have agreed before… but after everything that's happened I guess I… I'm tired of trying to figure out questions I have no answers for. I need solid facts. Now I know that everything is energy, it's made me think… maybe there isn't anyone in charge of it all… nothing is watching over us except US. I could be wrong, but then so could all the bots who think primus has any say over their lives at all. Maybe he does exist but he's actually just an observer." Bumblebee sighed, putting his elbows on the console bench and resting his head in his hands.

"You're a lot more philosophical than I thought." Wheeljack commented lightly.

Bee made a small sound of hollow amusement. "I've had way too much thinking time on my servos. Normally I'm not. Normally I try to DO rather than THINK. Without the ability to physically DO much, my processor took up the slack."

"And you don't like it?" The engineer pressed curiously.

Bumblebee shrugged again. "I don't really… I mean, thinking about philosophical stuff… or things that aren't important, that's fine. It's thinking about everything that's happened that's the problem. I don't want to think about it… but I don't have Prowl's mental discipline. I can't help myself. And I hate it. I feel… I feel like I get trapped in my own head. Always stuck on the bad stuff, never any good stuff."

Wheeljack reached out and patted his back understandingly. "That's part of the depression I'm afraid. You feel like your processor gets stuck in downward spirals, or in loops right? That's not your regular thought pattern, that's a symptom of depression. Don't feel bad for not having 'mental discipline', coding issues like that aren't something you can control, not really."

Bumblebee looked over at him, expression weary, but with an edge of hope. "Really?... I thought… I thought it was just… that I was defective or something. It's my head, why can't I control stuff like that?"

"Because Bee, it's not ALL your head, it's your spark too." He tapped the yellow chestplates lightly. "This here is you. Your spark uses your processor to control your body, and interact with the rest of the universe as we know it, but in the end, you're in here. You're a ball of light using technology to exist as a cybertronian. It's a symbiotic relationship, and sometimes your spark and processor can get a little out of sync, and like anything that gets out of sync, it doesn't quite work the way it's designed to. But it's not your fault."

Bumblebee stared at him with a slightly open mouth. He'd never had this sort of thing properly explained to him before.

And no one had given him a good enough reason to start believing that his flaws were not all his fault either.

"You mean… Everything I do and say comes from my spark? My processor is just like some… computer translator for it?"

"Sort of like that yeah. Don't get me wrong, processors allow for more complex thought pattern and organisation that sparks alone aren't capable of, it also helps you filter emotions, but talking in very very basic terms, the processor is a filter through which your spark goes in order to interact with everything around you. And when something messes with how the two talk to each other, you can get a whole range of issues, such as depression. It's one of the perils of being complex life-forms, the more complicated we are, the more there is that can go wrong with us."

Bumblebee nodded in understanding. "That… actually makes me feel a little less terrible about how I've been since the whole… THING happened. I didn't realise so much could happen in my body that I have no control over. Always just figured if something was wrong with me it was probably my fault."

"Hmmmm, that may be a by-product of being batch sparked. You guys never got the same level of emotional care or personal development as bots with progenitors. Especially later sparked batches, the institutes got lazier and lazier, churning bots out with barely any preparation for the world. They also tended to press liability for faults onto the bots they were sparking." Wheeljack explained kindly, an edge of bitterness to his tone when he spoke of the institutions.

Bumblebee nodded. "That sounds about right. We were too ignorant to know any better. They just wanted us to learn fast, not ask questions and go out there making them look good. I utterly failed at that. And I thought that was my fault, that's what they told us… if we didn't do any good, it was because 'some sparks just aren't as bright as others'."

"They SAID that to you?" Wheeljack sounded affronted.

Bee just nodded. "Yeah. We were new-sparks, we had no idea how problematic that kind of thinking is. Most of us learnt everything the hard way. We didn't know an easy-way. You know what my first job was? Someone asked me to be a courier for them. Shady as slag, but me, I had something to prove. My first job, I wanted to impress them, so I went double-time. Fast as I could, stop for no-one, that's what they told me to do."

"Ooooh no. I think I know where this is going." Wheeljack gave him an expectant sort of look, Bumblebee just nodding.

"Yep. Got pulled over, obviously. Told the officers 'everything is OK, I'm running an important package over to Kaon, gotta get there fast!'. They checked my package, of course it was contraband. Black market circuit speeders. They thought I'd TAKEN some, checked my over and everything."

"You mean you got given a record fresh out of the facility? That's harsh." Wheeljack frowned, but the scout shook his head.

"No… no I didn't get a record, I got something worse. They figured because I was so energetic I musta been hyped up on the speeders. My tests were clean though, and I explained everything the bot who gave me the package told me. The trooper said to me 'you'd have to be an idiot to believe that, what are you, a newspark?'"

Wheeljack's helm panels flashed red again. "Ouch. You said yes, didn't you?"

"Of course I did, I WAS a newspark. They let me off the hook 'cause of that, and they laughed. At me. The whole time. They thought it was hilarious, catching a 'dumbaft newspark' running drugs who had no idea what they even did. I was so slaggin' ashamed of myself." He scowled at the monitors. "I spent the next few orns kicking around trying to get honest work, but everyone just wanted to screw me over. 'Do this for free, you're a newspark, you're not experienced enough to get paid'. I nearly ended up trying to run drugs on purpose just because it actually paid, but then I found out about autobot boot camp. That was honourable, decent work. That was a chance for REAL respect, and real pay."

Wheeljack gave him a sad look, because his voice wasn't wistful or nostalgic, it was bitter and weary. "Was it really that bad? Compared to other stuff you'd done?"

Bumblebee made a non-committal sound somewhere between a hum and a grunt. "It was good pay, but there was no respect. No real guidance either. The more I've thought about it over the stellar cycles, the more angry I've gotten about it. Sentinel always set us up to fail. Throwing us into situations with little to no real training and expecting the best of us, punishing us when we screwed up from lack of instruction."

"He never was that great at cadet training. They stuck him there because Kup retired and they were punishing him for… anyway, go on, you were saying?" Wheeljack murmured, attention going fully back to Bumblebee, who was still gazing morosely over the monitors.

Bee glanced over at him. "Punishing him for the spider planet thing? We know about that. Black Arachnia goes on about it whenever she gets the chance. Didn't know he got made a cadet sarge as punishment."

Wheeljack shook his head. "Oh no, it wasn't for that. That happened later when he'd already earned the rank of Prime. No it was something else, but I really shouldn't talk about it, it's not my place."

"Oh… well, I didn't really have anything else to say anyways, I mean I wanted to be an Elite Guard. Instead I managed to screw up my batch-brother's life and land myself on spacebridge repair. Still… pay remains pretty solid. Always got a berth, and energon… and a team who's got my back. Except, y'know, for the last time I got theirs and… guess the rest is history." His voice gradually tapered off to a low murmur.

"Come on now, don't do that, don't let your mind go there or you'll fall into the depression cycle again. Distraction is key. Tell me about something else… what's your horoscope? Do you do horoscopes? Think they're a load of cogwash? I used to, but then every time I read them they'd end up kinda true."

Bee gave him a bemused side-long glance. "Uh… yeah, I used to read them, back when I could still get the Cybertron news feeds. I was sparked under Xal. You?"

"Serpent. Sooo, trickster huh? I'm a pretty typical Serp, but I have a little bit of Xal influence due to the alignments at the time. I love talking about horoscope predictions in front of Perceptor. It makes him twitchy. He can't stand it, thinks it's all a waste of time. But then he IS a Gold Disk, they're not much for believing in astrology."

"Optimus is a disker. He used to frown when I'd mention anything to do with astrology too. Guess you're right." Bee made a slightly amused sound, despite the fact he still felt pretty down. He was making a conscious effort to let Wheeljack stop him from falling back into the terrible thoughts though. He WANTED to feel OK. He wanted to be distracted from the darkness looming at the edges of his mind.

But it was difficult when the nagging worry of Wasp was there, and his spark felt like it was racing too fast from the tenseness of the situation.

After about an hour, the two of them fell into companionable silence, the scout thankfully having his attention diverted from the things trying to drag him down. He felt okay as long as he could watch the monitors and see what was happening. Which, right now, was a whole lot of nothing.

After two hours, Bumblebee was nearly falling into stasis with boredom.

After a third hour in which he taught Wheeljack to play 'I spy', he was actually falling into stasis, and his nagging worry about Wasp had fallen to the back of his processor with the lack of any sort of news.

"I really don't wanna recharge while everyone else is running around out there, but I don't think my body is going to give me any choice soon." He grumbled, offlining his optics and rubbing at the covers.

"Don't feel bad, you can't help it. Besides, you need the rest to keep up self-repairs. Go catch some shut-down time, I'll wake you if anything happens." Wheeljack reassured him.

Bumblebee nodded wearily and thanked him, trudging off to his quarters. He reached the roller door, pausing and looking over at Prowl's room.

He wondered briefly if the ninja-bot would mind him sleeping in there while he was away. It felt a lot less… uncomfortable in the other bot's room.

He dismissed the thought with a shake of his helm and opened up his door, only mostly closing it behind him. He left a decent gap at the bottom, not wanting to completely shut himself away if Wheeljack did need to come and get him.

Laying back on his berth, optics glossing over the posters he'd plastered on the ceiling, he wondered briefly about how he would admit his feelings to Prowl.

What if Prowl did, against all odds, reciprocate those feelings?

Would he… would they start recharging in the same room? Or take it slower?

Personally he'd prefer to just recharge with Prowl. It had become comfortable to him in the medbay, having the reassuring presence beside him, despite the fact it had felt strange at first.

Now it felt strange for him to be alone in his own berth. It didn't help that he'd become used to the flat surface rather than the tilted one they all normally used.

Prowl was the exception in that he'd always slept on a flat surface, claiming that tilted ones were bad for your energy, letting it run out of your pedes.

Bumblebee had always assumed it was more a case of Prowl preferring to sleep on his front or side and just not admitting to it. Flat Berths were fine for that, but tilted ones, not so much.

Now though, he wondered if there was some truth to what the ninja-bot had said. He didn't feel particularly comfortable at an angle, his weight resting on his pedes. All the pressure was on his stabilising servos, but then it may just have felt bad because his body was still recovering.

He was too tired now to be bothered getting up and adjusting his berth to lay flat, instead deciding to initiate his peaceful stasis protocols and slip into welcoming darkness, the only sound in his audio's that of the rain pattering over the roof.

"Hey, Ironhide. Over here."

The rust coloured mech turned, squinting into the darkness. "Bumblebee? What in the pit are ya doin' out here… where are ya?"

"Over here. I need your help."

The voice was quiet and sounded distressed, but he was sure it was Bumblebee. Ironhide hurried over to the shadowed corner of the building near where the tree had infiltrated the walls.

He could just make out Bumblebee's small frame in the darkness, huddled just inside the broken wall.

"Bee what'r'ya doin' out here? Ya 'sposed ta be hiding- NGH!"

Before he knew what was going on, the small figure had surged upwards, a stinger jamming under his neck, high voltage shorting out his processor and taking him offline.

The heavy rain masked the sound of his frame being dragged around the corner, hands bound in active stasis cuffs that would keep him offline for cycles.

"Wheeljack… come quick, something's wrong."

The engineer made a surprised sound and turned, looking for Bumblebee. He'd heard him, but he sounded a little off… his voice was strained, or damaged, or something.

He couldn't see him, so he assumed he was in the corridors to the rooms.

"Comin' Bee! Is it another purge?"

He trotted over, rounding the corner and-

He barely had time to register who he even bumped into before two somethings were jammed up under his helm panels and electricity poured through sensitive haptic networks, dropping him offline almost instantly.

There was less noise to cover the scrape of the engineer's body across the floor, but it didn't matter now.

He was deposited down in a shadowy corner by the conveyor-belts and mechanical arms, servos cuffed the same way as Ironhide's.

The bot heard pede-falls coming from the corridor and moved, swiftly and silently, concealing himself in the darkness and equipment on the old factory floor.

Bumblebee had woken after only an hour or so of rest. He'd wondered why he'd woken so soon for a few nanokliks, before the rawness in his sensor-net made itself known.

Ratchet's last EMP was wearing off, and the discomfort was quickly reaching unbearable levels.

Forcing himself up, he slowly made his way out to the corridor, and then the main room. He despised having to shuffle around to keep the discomfort down, but it was better to look like some old rust-bucket creaking along than to aggravate his healing sensors.

"Wheeljack? Hey did Ratchet leave you anything to-… Wheeljack?"

The engineer wasn't at the monitors. He wandered over and looked at them, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone could still be seen trundling through vid-feeds on their patrols, no alarms, no messages.

Maybe the engineer had gone to try and convince Ironhide to swap places with him?

A sound behind him made Bumblebee turn, tilting his helm to pinpoint it to the corridor.

"Wheeljack?"

He shuffled over to the corridor again, but now there was a cold sort of dread seeping into his tank.

He'd called loudly enough this time that if it were the engineer, he would have heard him. Unless he had gone to the medbay for something, and he'd only thought that sound was closer by some trick of the acoustics in the-

The lights suddenly went out, throwing him into pitch-blackness.

"Bumble-booooooot."

The scout froze, optics wide and pale.

That was not Wheeljack.

An alarm sounded briefly and the red emergency lighting engaged.

I have to call the others, I have to-

Even as he thought it and turned to move for the door, he found his way blocked.

"WASP!"

"Hello, Bumble-bot."

As if the sight of him standing a meter behind him wasn't shocking enough, a stinger was thrust towards his head.

Bumblebee ducked instinctively, but the hit smacked into his helm horn, a shock of electricity surging momentarily though his head from that point.

He hissed as he felt his comm-link short out.

Bumblebee staggered back, sensors feeling like raw metal on metal scraping as he moved. He took up a stiff defensive stance and stared at Wasp.

"Stop! Please, Wasp, you don't understand, I never meant to-"

"Wasp not come all this way to hear Bumble-bot's excuses!"

The scout had to stagger back again as a stinger was furiously swiped in his direction.

"Listen to me! I didn't KNOW, it was Longarm, he was the Decepticon spy, he's Shockwave, he played us both-"

"Shut-up! Only thing Wasp wants to hear from Bumble-bot is not lies, it's screaming."

The green mech advanced again, this time aiming a stinger to fire rather than swiping it, and shooting a jolt towards the other sub-compact.

Bumblebee had no choice but to throw himself out of the way, performing a clumsy roll and staying crouched, clutching at his midriff and venting hard. His sensors were burning.

"S5 I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't know it was you, why didn't you tell me who you were? I didn't recognise you… you were so different, you'd changed your armour and your colour… you didn't act like how I remembered you… S5 please…"

This had Wasp stalling in his tracks, optics wide and fixed piercingly on Bumblebee, who stared back with a mixture of fear and anguish.

The green mech took in a deep vent and released it furiously.

"S6 was Wasps brother. S6 changed too. S6 not even care what happen to S5 when… when they took him away. S5 begged to go back and S6 not even care!"

"Of course I cared! I missed you, you were my brother and they took you away because of what that warden did to you." Bumblebee couldn't stop his voice crackling with static from emotion, optics pleading for the green mech's forgiveness.

Wasp's own violet optics stared back with cold anger. "S5 not taken away because of what wardens did. S5 taken away because S6 blabbed about what WE did together! If S6 kept his mouth shut, S5 never would have been taken away."

The hissed words made Bumblebee wince.

"S5… Wasp, please, I never meant to hurt you… I didn't know any better back then, neither of us did, we were just newsparks… please believe me, I 'm sorry-"

Bumblebee nearly sobbed the words, his spark aching for his lost brother, but he was forced to jump back once more as Wasp let out a cry of rage and aimed his stingers again.

The scout dodged the jolts of hot lightning, transforming his own out instinctively and aiming them.

"Please, Wasp, don't make me hurt you, I don't want to!"

Wasp snarled at him, optics a deep violet now as he stalked towards him, unperturbed by the threat.

"Too late for that, Bumble-bot."

The yellow mech let out an involuntary keen of anguish and turned to run rather than try to fight him, staggering down the corridor, heading for Prowl's room. He transformed his stingers away to use his servos, He could escape though the broken wall by the tree if he climbed it a bit-

"AAAGH!"

Bumblebee was knocked to the ground by a jolt right to the middle of his back.

By the time his head stopped swimming from the fire in his sensor net, he felt a body pressing down on him from behind.

Keening, he struggled, but another small zap in his side had him seizing up again.

He felt Wasp groping for his servos, trying to pull them behind his back, and struggled again, pushing through the static fire of feedback from his haptic net.

I can't let myself be captured again but I don't want to fight him, I don't want to hurt him, he's like this because of me…

He missed any window he had to push harder and try to escape, another zap from Wasp to his side losing him the fight.

Icy, sickening fear washed through him as he felt stasis cuffs snap around his wrists, activating and locking him out of his own motor controls.

"Wasp, please, don't... if you're going to kill me just do it, please, please don't drag it out…"

He was disgusted by the weakness of his own pleas, but Wasp merely snarled and roughly rolled him over. He still crouched over him, pinning him with his pelvis pressed to Bee's midriff, stingers transformed back to servos.

The scout hissed as the weight on his damaged sensor grid made his head spin, and thinking straight became a challenge.

He forced himself to focus on Wasp as the green mech leant in close.

"Wasp not going to kill Bumble-bot… Wasp want to make Bumble-bot feel what WASP had to feel. Does Bumble-bot know what it's like to lose everything, and have all of Bumble-bot's friends turn on Bumble-bot? What it's like to waste stellar cycles in stockades?"

The hissed words sounded more than a little unhinged, and Bumblebee could see now just what the isolation and fixation had done to the other mech.

"Wasp… please… LOOK at our files… look in the medbay… I do… I know how much it hurt you, I know what kind of pain you must have felt… I can't say sorry enough, I know I can't, but don't think I don't get it… I've been punished for this already… I have…"

His voice was small, and it cracked once more with the strength of the emotions roiling through his spark.

And oh primus, his spark felt like there was a vice on it. The panic, the shame, the fear, the anguish he felt for his lost Brother, it was more than he could handle but he had to bear it because he couldn't escape now.

His body was locked by the cuffs, Primus only knew where Wasp had gotten them… even if he could run, the other sub-compact was in much better shape and could easily take him down before he could get away or sound an alarm.

He had no idea what Wasp had done to Ironhide and Wheeljack, but if he hadn't killed them… if they were still there somewhere and he could yell loudly enough to wake them, they at least might have working comms…

Wasp had narrowed his optics, watching Bumblebee as if thinking critically over what he had said, deciding what to do with him.

"Wasp not believe you. Bumble-bot just trying to trick Wasp so Wasp doesn't hurt Bumble-bot… no, Wasp has waited too long… Wasp going to make Bumble-bot pay for everything, Wasp going to show Bumble-bot what they did to Wasp…"

The way the other bot snarled the words and the manic light in his optics both made the scout shudder internally.

The other bot stood, grabbing the bar of the cuffs and dragging Bumblebee down the corridor towards the rooms.

This was his chance.

"WHEELJACK! IRONHIDE! GUYS, HELP-"

Bumblebee gasped and coughed as a pede slammed solidly down on his midriff, robbing him of his voice. The pain shocked him thoroughly enough to disorientate him.

"Bumble-bot's friends not HEAR him, they're out cold. Wasp not kill them though. Wasp not a murderer. Wasp was a GOOD bot once." The green mech mumbled, continuing to drag Bumblebee, taking him into the nearest open room… which happened to be the scout's own.

Wasp shut the roller door behind them, heaving the captive scout into the middle of the room, muttering. "Bumble-bot even steal Wasps friend… not that Ironhide been friends with Wasp for a looong time… Ironhide too busy to even visit Wasp…"

Bumblebee was still gasping against the agony in his sensor grid. The EMP had well and truly worn off now. Every movement sent fire licking through his systems.

"Just Wasp and Bumble-bot now. Just S5 and S6. Does Bumble-bot remember what happened last time S5 and S6 alone together?"

The scout tried to concentrate, processor searching as far back in his memory as it could. "We… we… that was when… you…"

His optics onlined nearly white. "Wasp… wasp please, no, don't do it, not that, PLEASE not that-"

The green mech was already looming over him, optics hard and almost hungry. He reached down and grasped yellow thighs, wrenching them apart.

With the stasis cuffs active, Bumblebee was entirely helpless. Wasp could do whatever he wanted with his frame, and he could put up no resistance.

Memories surfaced, mixing together… Oilslick forcing his legs apart… S5 kneeling between his legs and poking at his seal… Shockwave's claw pressing into him…

"NO! NO WASP PLEASE, PLEASE DON'T DO IT PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU I CAN'T TAKE IT AG- MMNPH!"

A servo clamped down viciously over his mouth, Wasp leaning his other on his pelvis as he hunched forward to hiss at him. "Bumble-bot will know. This is what WASP had to feel. Wasp begged too. Did that stop them hurting Wasp? NO. They not want to hear it. WASP not want to hear it."

The green mech moved his free servo, fishing in subspace and pulling out a few rags. He stuffed one in Bumblebee's mouth, the scout trying to spit it out, but another rag was tied around his head and across his mouth to keep it in.

He whined and keened, shaking his helm, optics near-white with panic, but Wasp was resolved. He wasn't backing down from this. He was committed to fully repaying his brother for everything he'd suffered.

The green mech didn't waste any time, aware that there were other Autobots patrolling nearby. He'd watched them. He'd learnt their routes. He'd waited until he knew he had the most time, and struck.

The yellow and red sports-cars wouldn't be passing by again for another cycle at least, but he had a lot to do.

He'd had a very long time to plan this, and not much in which to execute it.

He groped for Bumblebee's panel, satisfied by the fear and panic in his optics. Finding the catch, he opened it, and then went about opening his own.

He didn't notice the damage. He wasn't interested in drawing this out. It hadn't been slow or easy for him. It had been quick, and brutal, and painful. And it had happened again, and again, and again.

He'd been gagged too, threatened that if he made a sound he'd be punished, locked in the storage unit for cycles, alone in the dark.

"Bumble-bot will know what it's like… Bumble-bot will go to stockades… Wasp never forgive Bumble-bot… never."

The green mech snarled as his spike extended. He lined up and rammed it into the port, thrusting hard and fast. He got no real pleasure from it on an emotional level. Satisfaction of revenge and control, yes, but his charge only built from physical stimulus.

It had been a very, very long time since he'd interfaced. His sensors ached for pleasure, and they took it in the odd, uneven texture of the valve. He'd felt this valve before, once, but that had been so long ago he'd forgotten it.

He didn't question the strange un-evenness, or the way it barely flexed around him. He just offlined his optics and listened to the high, thready keens his batch brother let out.

So different from the sounds he'd made the first time they'd interfaced.

Bumblebee's first time.

That had been gasps and giggles and hushed murmurs. That had been a relief from the agony of the way the warden had fragged him. It hadn't been his first time, but it had been the first time he'd realised it was meant to be good, not bad.

That had been the beginning of the end for him…

But not for Bumblebee.

He hated him for that. He hated that he'd been the one carted off to a treatment centre where they'd tried to convince him it didn't happen, brainwashed him into being normal by pretending nothing was wrong.

It had changed him, but he didn't think it had changed him enough to warrant his own batch brother forgetting him. If he had really cared about him that much, he would have seen through the new armour and new paint they'd bribed him with to keep him quiet.

That was a pain he couldn't simulate. It burned in his spark deeply enough that he pistoned his hips harder into Bumblebee. He'd make him pay… it was all his fault, everything, if he couldn't be happy then neither could Bumblebee.

In his fear, the scout's systems began to glitch. Optics blazing white in his distress, he wavered between triggered memories and the horrific reality of the situation.

His haptic net was screaming at him, and his body had reacted to the presence of a spike in his valve by trying to turn on the interface systems again.

Error message after error message clogged his HUD, half the sensors were dead, and the half still online were damaged and felt like shards of glass lining his valve.

Interface protocols covered port and spike concurrently, there was no way of separating the feeds, so both were trying to activate, and what was left of his spike still ached like the pit.

And he couldn't move.

There was no writhing away, no escape, no relief.

It was too much like what the Decepticons had done. He was having trouble remembering that he wasn't trapped in their brig and suffering their torture again.

But when he came back to reality and realised over and over that it was his brother doing this, and he was in his room, it didn't make things any better. Not by far.

He sobbed around the gag, clicks muted by the fabric, optics flickering with the stress on his spark. The glitch he'd suffered at the servos of the Decepticons reasserted itself despite his damaged spark and the healing he'd been through… he couldn't go offline, he couldn't, he wanted to so desperately to make it stop but he just couldn't.

He howled in agony as Wasp tried and failed to jack into his port, slamming frustratedly against it. The connection socket was too damaged, there was no way he'd ever be able to plug in. Servos scratched at Bumblebee's hips and midriff, yanking him into the thrusts, the haptic feedback making his head swim.

But Wasp tried, ooooh he tried over, and over, and over to plug in, hub of his cord magnetised and yanking at sensors, making Bumblebee's vocaliser hitch and break into static. And Wasp watched his brother's face, engine growling at the feeling of power he got from making him pay.

And then… then Wasp's sensors finally tripped, and he overloaded. The charge arced from the spike to Bumblebee's socket, despite the fact it was broken, and he screamed as agony lanced through his charge generator. It felt like someone had thrust a knife through his pelvis.

But then it was over… blessedly over, and Wasp pulled out.

Bumblebee's vents buzzed hard to cool his taxed and aching frame, and he could feel the gush of energon from his valve, the same vulnerable line torn open again.

His spark pulsed erratically in his chest-plates, and his vision was blurred by the strain on his systems.

He tried to focus on Wasp as he stood up, cleaning himself off before pulling what looked like a gun out of subspace.

He gave a muffled sound of distress as the bot he'd once called brother clicked a canister of bright green fluid into the gun and knelt down to shut Bumblebee's panel.

"Now Bumble-bot know what S5 felt. And soon… soon Bumble-bot will know what WASP felt."

Wasn't he going to kill him? Wasn't that a gun? Or was it slow acting, like what Shockwave had put in him. Some kind of virus… Wasp had said he wasn't a murderer, but was he making an exception for him?

Bumblebee knew there was something he was missing, but his head was full of error messages and pain and overlapping memories and he couldn't keep up with what was happening anymore.

When Wasp leant down and shoved the tip of a stinger under his jaw, being knocked out by the current that shot through his sensors was almost a relief.

Almost.

When he came around, it was slowly. Systems were sluggish to boot up, errors clogged queues until he dismissed each of them and told several processes to abort. Pretty much every issue he had he shunted to self-repairs to deal with so he could get conscious enough to boot up memory banks and figure out what was so very wrong with him.

He knew it was something big, and bad, because his spark felt awful, and he had an overwhelming sense of dread hanging at the back of his mind. He just needed a clear enough processor to remember why.

Optics began booting up and he registered voices. They seemed far away, until his audials cranked into gear and he slowly processed the words until they had meaning.

Bulkhead… he could hear Bulkhead.

"Is he alright?"

Then Ratchet… oh, yes, that was a relief, that gravelly baritone was one of the best things he'd ever heard.

"Look, he's coming online."

Who was? Oh, right, he was.

It was as the shapes around him solidified into recognisable bots that he registered one of them as being out of place.

One of the bots standing around him was him.

Memories suddenly came back, flooding into his processor, and he onlined the rest of the way, body going rigid with shock.

It happened again.

Wasp…

Wasp raped me…

Where…

No…

No that's not me, that's HIM, am I…

He sat up and pressed back against what he realised was the arm of the couch, trying to put as much distance between him and the other sub-compact as possible.

He shook his helm, optics wide and horrified as he glanced down at himself.

"No! No that's not ME, he's impersonating me!" He clutched at his own throat. How did HE sound like Wasp? Granted, it was more like Wasp sounded BEFORE he went mad, but his team was never going to know the difference.

"Same crazy wasp." Bulkhead rumbled, a giant servo coming down to rest on Bumblebee's shoulder.

He wished it had been to comfort him, but he realised quickly it was a means of restraint, and shuddered.

The old nightmare threatened to surface, one where his team were the ones violating him, a fear he'd held in the darkest depths of his post torture shock and delirium…

He tamped down on it ruthlessly, but the fear wouldn't leave even when the vision was supressed.

"Poor Wasp. All that time in the stockades really scrambled his circuits. I'm sorry you had to go through that, brother."

Bumblebee stared, horrified, at the bot he knew must be Wasp. He even SOUNDED like him… the voice was off only by the undertones of a buzz, but it could be passed off as vocaliser strain caused by high emotions…

"No, Nonono I'M BUMBLEBEE, he's impersonating me, it's Wasp, guys, please, you have to believe me, you have to-"

"I really don't think there's any saving him… better take him to the ship so they can get him to a safe, secure cell on Cybertron. He's clearly dangerous to himself, and everyone around him." Not-Bumblebee sighed, backing away slowly as if worried about his sanity.

"Cell? You mean ward? Probably the best option. Assuming high command won't try to throw him back in the stockades, but I'm sure Perceptor can convince them otherwise-"

Ratchet continued on, but Bumblebee's audials had filled with white noise. The medic had pulled out a pair of stasis cuffs. He stared at them as if they were a spark-eater.

Not again… nononono I can't, I won't, I'm not letting them take me, I'm not going to be locked up again I can't… I can't…

"You gotta believe me! He switched our paintjobs… and our helmets, and our voices, I don't know how but you HAVE to BELIEVE me!" His voice cracked with panic, and he could see Optimus was alarmed and readying himself for a struggle.

Ratchet and the others just shook their heads.

And that's when he noticed Prowl standing behind Ratchet, glaring at him. The look made his spark shrivel.

He was standing there, placing his servo on WASP'S shoulder and GLARING at him like he was some disgusting vermin…

And Wasp just smiled.

It was like some horrifying, surreal nightmare.

I need to get out of here.

Ratchet started to creep forward, as if going slowly would stop him from spooking and putting up a fight.

Bumblebee felt Bulkhead's hold on him tighten slightly.

His panic levels reached tipping point.

Reacting quick as lightening and transforming out a stinger, he shot at the stasis cuffs in Ratchet's hold, the Medic letting out a cry of surprise as they broke apart.

Bumblebee didn't stop to think about the fact his stingers were now powerful enough to cause that kind of damage, he was running on pure fear. The only thing going through his mind now was RUN.

He shot out the lights and kicked Bulkhead in the grill, slipping from the surprised bot's servo and running for the door.

On instinct, he transformed, engine whining from the agony of it. Once he was in vehicle mode though, he didn't stop, pushing onwards at full speed and tearing out of the base into the night.

The frigid air and drizzle were like a balm on his over-heated frame, and he drove hard, not paying attention to where he was going, trying to put as much distance between him and the base as he possibly could. Between him and Wasp.

His mind was a mess, he couldn't hold onto his thoughts for more than a few astroseconds, trains of thought broken by memories and waves of fresh fear and panic. Between visions of his abuse and reacting to the traffic, he had no room left for rational thought.

The only thing that ended up breaking the cycle of fight or flight in his head was his spark flagging.

He slowed and fish-tailed on the wet roads, managing to steer himself down a deserted alley where he finally rolled to a stop.

His vents were roaring, spark feeling like it was in a pressure chamber. The drizzling rain was petering out, but it was enough to help cool him still, until he could start to think straight again.

Bumblebee wasn't entirely sure if he passed out in vehicle mode or not, or how long it was for if he did. He was only aware of the fact that he was alone, and he was injured, and he needed to calm down and figure out what to do next.

He waited until his spark had recouped enough energy to transform back to root mode and remained on all-fours once he'd forced the change.

His frame shook like mad, and it was difficult to not panic all over again at the green-ness of his armour.

It was still HIS though. There had been no body swapping. Helmet swapping, yes, because this was definitely not his helmet. It was uncomfortable, and the sightlines were wrong, and the dam CHIN on the thing felt three times heavier than any chin should.

He reached a servo up to try and yank it off, but rainwater made it hard to keep a decent grip on the metal. He made a strangled noise of desperate frustration as he failed to un-jam it from his head.

There was no getting it off. He couldn't show them who he was that way. He gave up trying to get it off and hung his head.

This was too much for him. All of it. He didn't know how he was even conscious. He supposed fear had a big part to play. And probably the re-triggering of the glitch that wouldn't let him offline on his own.

Bumblebee could feel the weariness of his spark. But he HAD to push it. He had no choice, even as much as it hurt, even as weak as he was, he couldn't stop. He couldn't let them catch him.

There was no way he could let them send him to the stockades… or some institute… he couldn't handle being locked up for the rest of his life with only his memories for company.

The terrifying thought was interrupted by a sharp pain in his pelvis. Shuddering, he realised his interface array was still online, and there was a backup of leaking energon behind his panel.

Being new armour, the seal on the codpiece was pristine and worked perfectly. Nothing had seeped out. But in this case, that was not necessarily a good thing.

He looked around, spotting a broken down-pipe and dragging himself over to it. He sat beneath the dribble of water coming off the gutters of the building, leaning against the wall.

Checking to see that he was completely alone, he opened his panel, shaking and feeling sick to his tanks.

Energon poured onto the ground, mixing with the water and flowing towards the nearest sewer inlet. Bumblebee whimpered at the sting and throb, memories rising unbidden of all the bots who'd ruined him so thoroughly.

The scout screwed up his optics and sobbed quietly, trying ruthlessly to supress the memories. He needed to focus, he needed to figure out what to do…

All he could think was to figure out how to stop the leak, check the severity of the tear, but that would involve probing into his valve…

There was no other way to know than to feel it for himself. It felt like it had been forever since he'd even touched his own interface equipment. He didn't want to, he felt dirty enough as it was. Touching it would only make what had been done to him feel more real and horrifying.

But what choice did he have?

His frame shook like mad as he reached down, sliding two digits into himself to try and feel the damage.

It was too deep for him to reach without causing himself excruciating amounts of pain, and he withdrew his servo, washing off the energon and shakily closing his panel. He felt filthy, utterly disgusted with himself, with his weakness.

Can't even defend myself against former Autobots… what use am I, why would they even keep me, I can't… I can't tell Prowl I love him now… it would be insulting… he's never going to love me back, I'm pathetic, I'm tainted… not worthy of him…

The memory of that disgusted look the ninja-bot had given him at the plant came back to mind, and Wasp-not-Bumblebee's smirk.

With a strangled noise of frustration he cast his optics around and spotted an old broken couch. He grabbed one of the cushions and rubbed furiously at his plating.

His sensors didn't react well, but he pressed on anyway.

"Stupid paint… I know, I know what he felt like now, how could they not RECOGNISE me, it's ME, I'm just GREEN and my HELMET is a different shape. My body is the SAME, my face is the SAME… how could even Prowl not recognise me?" he mumbled, choking on some of the words as he failed to stifle more sobs.

"What kind of paint IS this? It's not even FADING." He keened in frustration, throwing down the cushion he'd been using as a sponge and scratching desperately at the paint with his servo.

He hissed, paint scraping off, not revealing his true yellow but instead the base metal of his armour.

"HOW is this even POSSIBLE?"

Now he was angry. Now he was furious because how was this fair? Why was this happening to him when he'd already been through enough. Now he knew there really was no Primus because he didn't want to believe that a creator god could be so cruel.

It made no sense. NONE of it made any sense.

He couldn't defend himself properly, not in his state. How was it that every single one of the highly trained Autobots actively trying to keep him safe had FAILED?

After all that talk, all the plans, all the promises.

It had all been a lie.

He sat with his helm in his servos, shaking with emotion.

"How could they do this to me?"

"We need to get after him, now!" Optimus ran for the door the moment the emergency lighting kicked in, the rest of his team quickly following suit.

When he reached it though, his path was blocked by the arrival of Sentinel, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

The three transformed up when they saw the team running out of the base. Sentinel scowled. "What's going on, where's Wasp?"

"You need to move, we've got to get after him, before he gets too far." Optimus tried not to sound too impatient, knowing that fragging the other Prime off just got him ornery.

Unfortunately, he was already ornery from having to drive in the wet for hours with no sightings of the suspect, only to be radioed that he'd been caught at the base.

"You mean you LOST HIM ALREADY? For spark's sake Optimus, no WONDER your team is still assigned to this backwater planet. Can't even hold a fugitive you've caught for more than a cycle!"

"Don't START with me Sentinel, it's not as if you caught him any faster. BUMBLEBEE is the one who caught him. You want me to point out all the ways in which an injured second class repair mech managed to best you at your own mission, or would you rather stop wasting time and get out there after Wasp?"

Sentinel gawked at him, derailed by the information. "He… wait, Bumblebee caught him? HOW exactly did mister narcolepsy do that?" he gave the yellow mech standing behind the Prime an incredulous look.

"How DID you manage that?" Sideswipe asked curiously from behind Sentinel.

"And why is your battle-mask still engaged?" Sunstreaker followed up, confused.

The others turned to Bumblebee, wanting to know the same thing. They hadn't really questioned him, more concerned with getting Ironhide and Wheeljack into the medbay and checking Wasp over.

He'd deflected most of their initial anxieties and questions, and they hadn't wanted to press him.

Right now though, he was in the spotlight, and he couldn't shy away from explaining forever.

"Wasp put up a fight, but I was just… tougher. My mask is jammed… probably a glitch… we gotta go after Wasp, he's gonna get away."

Ratchet made an objective noise at that. "YOU are not going ANYWHERE, not with the new armour acting up like that, and not with your current spark condition. Stay on base and sit tight, we'll get Wasp back. At least now you don't need to worry about him exacting any revenge. Seems you're more than capable of handling him, and he's got other problems to worry about now."

The yellow bot nodded. "Bumble-bot stays here, got it."

"Bumble-bot? I'd say you've bumbled a lot less than the rest of us tonight." Bulkhead murmured to him, patting him on the shoulder before transforming down with the others.

"Make sure and tell us when Wheeljack and Ironhide are awake again. Same as before, any problems at all, comm us straight away, alright?" Optimus told him, voice gentle, before transforming and peeling out with the others to search for their fugitive.

Wasp relaxed slightly once they were all gone. He'd have to make sure he didn't refer to himself as Bumble-bot. They seemed to think he was deriding himself, it would cause too much suspicion if they picked up on it happening again.

He wandered into the plant, shaking rain-water off his plating, and wandered through the base curiously.

This place was pretty nice, if you overlooked the broken windows and leaks. He could get used to having a bunch of bots fussing over him. Even if he didn't understand why they all seemed so damn protective of Bumblebee.

He remembered his batch brother saying something about looking at medical files. Maybe he'd been banged up by Decepticons and he was so pathetic his team treated him like a sparkling?

Well, if he was going to take Bumblebee's place here, even if only for a while, he might as well look through the team's logs, get a better idea of their history.

Was that their main console there?

Wasp wandered over to the couch and sat down, picking up a controller attached to a box, which was wired to the biggest screen in the room.

Tapping a button woke the console from sleep mode. The stuff on the screen didn't look like a file logging system though?

He began messing around with it, figuring out that it was actually a simulated fight training program of some sort. It didn't make a lot of sense, but he tried it out anyway. He was amused up until the point he found he was not very good at it.

After getting his aft handed to him by the A.I. a few times, he stood up and threw the controller down in frustration.

"Stupid game! If Bumble-bot and other Autobots here knew REAL fighting, Wasp would not have been able to make Bumble-bot fugitive." He snarled, looking around at the monitor bank and wandering over.

"Let's see what Bumble-bot DOES know…"

Wasp tried hacking whatever wasn't open, finding Bumblebee's logs readily available up to a point.

Beyond about a month or so ago, there was nothing but a big blank space right up to present.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hack into anything that would fill in that gap. Not unless he wanted to draw suspicion.

"Hmmmm. Bumble-bot want Wasp to know what happened… Bumble-bot said go to medbay to find out. Files must be there." He murmured to himself, erasing his search history and closing the console before wandering through the base to find said medbay.

He went to the right first, past Bumblebee's room, looking into the one beside it. No, that had to be Bulkhead's. There were space-bridge parts and… paintings? As well as some other miscellaneous junk in there.

He didn't bother with the room across from those two, he knew it belonged to another team member. It was the one he'd entered the base through, the one with the giant organic plant thing in it, making the hole in the wall.

Stupid Autobots, not closing up hole in base. Security here nothing like stockades. Security here pathetic.

He wandered down the other way, following the sound of machinery when he heard it echo faintly off the walls.

The medbay was right down the end, and in it were the two bots he'd offlined before.

They were still offline, which didn't surprise him. What HAD surprised him was how fast Bumblebee had woken up after he did it to him. Wasp hadn't expected the other sub compact to online BEFORE they had secured him to take him to Cybertron.

Then again, they'd been softer with the bot they assumed was him than he'd expected.

He put it down to weak sparks as he wandered over to the monitor bank on the other side of the berth the engineer was lain on. Ironhide was on the spare in the corner. They would be fine, but they'd have a pit of a headache when they came around.

Wasp tapped away at the console quietly, many of the files with the timestamps he wanted were just open and sitting there.

Slowly and thoroughly, he worked his way from where the logs he'd read left off… picking up the thread from Ratchet's journal, since it became apparent why Bumblebee's entries had stopped.

With little else to keep him from having another panic attack, Bumblebee had picked up the couch cushion again and tried desperately to get the paint off him. Even bare metal would be better than the green.

Concentrating on the task had also given his spark time to recover. At one stage he had felt sick enough that he'd wanted to purge, but he'd forced the urge down ruthlessly.

He couldn't afford to lose any energon right now. Well… any MORE energon. His self-repair systems had been slowing the leak, working sluggishly to patch the line in his still throbbing valve. He'd searched his sub-space and found a mostly full cube he'd stashed earlier when he wasn't particularly hungry.

The whole cube was already gone. There was no way of knowing how long he'd be running, he needed all the energy he could get. Once it ran out, well… he'd figure that out when he got to it.

Bumblebee scrubbed harder at his shin with little to no results besides a dulling of the enamel. If he focussed on this task at least it kept his spark from guttering with fear.

But not for long.

The sound of jet engines overhead sent icy dread through his systems. His servo stilled, clutching the cushion as his helm whipped around and he staggered to his pedes.

Was it Starscream? One of his clones? It sounded like more than one…

Out of the sky dropped two bots, and he felt both relief and dread at the sight of them.

The jet twins had found him.

"Guys… wait, I'm not who they said I am, I'm not-"

"A traitor? We are knowing this." Jetfire cut him off.

"But we are still to be taking you in for own safety." Jetstorm followed up, and before Bumblebee could make any further protests, a gust of wind was blowing him towards Jetfire, who produced a set of cuffs.

"NONONONO STOP!"

Bumblebee panicked again, his mind telling him that driving was the fastest means of escape. He forced his body to comply and transform, gunning his engine to try and escape the gale blowing him down the alley.

It was like a wind-tunnel, and he realised that in vehicle mode, they couldn't cuff him. He brake-turned on the spot and raced with the wind at his back towards Jetfire.

The orange and tan bot was so surprised he didn't move in time, Bumblebee slamming into him and sending him sprawling several meters away.

Hoping he hadn't hurt the bot, Bumblebee raced away… or at least tried to.

The very end of the alley was now blocked by Ratchet, and the magnetic arcs were transformed out of his arms.

"No use trying to run Wasp, we're not trying to HURT you."

You might not be trying but you're doing it anyway Bumblebee thought, drifting in a perfect 180 turn and gunning it towards Jetstorm.

The other Jet managed to react faster than his brother, ramping up his turbines and gusting air harder down the alleyway at him.

Bumblebee transformed back to root mode, thinking he could leap the bot with the momentum of his speed, before the wind slowed him down too much.

He severely underestimated the power of the air at the speed Jetstorm was pushing it.

Bumblebee found himself spinning through the night, carried up by the artificial current as if he were made of aluminium. Lights streaked below him and grew smaller.

His vents gasped, his spark span faster in terror, he span through the air far too fast to get a handle on how high he was.

The power of the air currents only took him so far before he began to fall. The momentum of his spin was lost, allowing him to see where he was relative to the earth.

Slagslagslagslag how do I land without breaking into pieces, oh frag, oh frag, oh frag that's a rooftop, break-fall, BREAK-FALL, PARKOUR OR SOMETHING-

He tried to hit the warehouse roof and roll, but ended up going straight through it pedes first. He had at least angled himself well enough that when he hit the warehouse floor, he rolled rather than slammed.

It was several moments before he tried to move, body screaming at him, but head screaming louder that he needed to keep running.

Bumblebee dragged himself onto all fours, assessing the damage. Dents, but nothing shattered or cracked. Lucky that most of his frame was new and the worse struts had only just been replaced, or he'd probably have been totalled.

When he tried to stand up, he staggered, falling to his knees and clutching at his chest.

OK, so maybe he hadn't gotten off that lightly. But since when had crash landings ever made his spark feel like it was contracting and burning…

Unless it had nothing to do with the crash…

No… oh no, nonono not NOW, why NOW?

"Nuts n' bolts, there goes our fugitive!" Ratchet yelled in exasperation as he watched Wasp get blown away over their helms.

"Oops… that is being my bad… brother, come, we will make tag team and go after Wasp." Jetstorm jogged over to his brother, who was still sitting up and rubbing the back of his helm, slightly dazed.

Ratchet wandered over and knelt down to scan him. "Don't think that's such a good idea just yet. You hit your helm pretty hard kid, let your gyros re-set for a klik or two before you get up and start wandering around.

Optimus came running down from the end of the alley that Jetstorm had been blocking off, looking around. "What happened, where'd Wasp go? I thought you said you had him cornered?"

"Sorry Optimus prime sir. I was being a little… over doing it with the wind. Fugitive Wasp is blown halfway across town." The blue jet replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his own helm.

Optimus let out an expansive sigh and rubbed at his temples. "It's alright… you tried. Ratchet, did you see which way he was blown? Hopefully some of the others are nearby, they can pick up the pursuit."

"Where is he, where's Wasp?"

Sentinel came sprinting down the alley, stopping and scowling when he noted that the green sub-compact was not clapped in stasis cuffs. And what was more, one of his soldiers was on their aft.

"What the slag is going on here, why are you two slacking off? We have a criminal to find here!"

"Slow down Sentinel, they already engaged Wasp, and he's not a criminal, how many times do we have to go over this?" Optimus tried to keep his voice calm, but he continued to rub his temples.

Processor aches almost never went away when the other Prime was around.

"I don't care, all I know is we need to find him and we need to CATCH him. These two are my soldiers, and they follow MY orders! Jetstorm, Jetfire, fall in!"

"Now you listen HERE Sentinel Prime. I don't care what authority you think you have but one of your soldiers is injured. As the chief medical officer on this planet, I'm over-riding your orders. Jetfire isn't flying until I'm satisfied he hasn't cracked a circuit board, you got that?"

Sentinel looked like he might blow a fuse at Ratchet, and was probably ready to howl him down for insubordination, but Jetstorm decided to use a time honoured Jazz technique. Distraction and misdirection.

"Sirs, I believe Wasp was being blown north by my turbine. It is likely he is landing roughly two metres of kilo away."

Sentinel turned his attention on the jet, pulling a face as he tried to make sense of the words. The effort of that was a sufficient enough distraction for Ratchet to get off the hook, Optimus comm'ing the rest of the bots about Wasp's possible landing zone.

"This would be easier if I had any idea what modifications your systems had gone under to make you jets. I wouldn't know how to fix half of the stuff I'm getting readings for here." Ratchet murmured.

"Is OK doc-bot. We are being able to fix ourselves." Jetfire propped himself a little higher against the wall, earning a dubious look from Ratchet.

"Oh, is that so? And how exactly would you do that?"

"We are be showing you." Jetstorm held out a servo, his brother taking it and letting himself be hauled up. The two of them stood back to back, and the medic gawked as they began to shift and merge, transforming from two into one.

When they were done, a mech larger than Optimus stood before him.

"Nice trick fly-bots, but how's that gonna help fix either of you?" he grumbled with an air of being impressed.

"When we are making Safeguard, our systems are supporting one another and self-repairings are made faster." The huge mech explained.

"Oh. Well, I'll be the judge of that." He murmured, scanning the gestalt and making a surprised noise. "Well I'll be slagged. Remind me to quiz Perceptor and Wheeljack about you two when all this Wasp nonsense is over. That ability could have useful medical applications."

"If you're done geeking out over a top-secret project that you shouldn't even know about, I'd like my SOLDIERS back now so we can do some actual WORK here." Sentinel rumbled, glaring at the medic.

Optimus stepped up, shaking his head. "No need to make them fly around before they're recovered, Rodimus just responded, he's got a visual on Wasp."

"And I just got a visual on part of him too." Ratchet frowned, looking past the Twins to a sizeable puddle where a broken downpipe was dribbling water.

Walking over, he crouched down, analysing the pool which flowed slowly down the gutter. "There's energon here. It's too dull to be purged, it must be from a broken line. Wasp must've injured himself somewhere between the base and that fight. Better let the others know Optimus, it's more important now than ever that we catch him before he hurts himself even worse."

/We're on it Optimus. That's not far from us, I think I heard the crash/. Rodimus reported in, waving at Hot-shot to follow him.

Their earlier patrol teams had dissolved the moment the call had come in that Wasp was caught at the plant. Only Optimus' team had been asked to report to the base, leaving the rest of them to organise into their usual teams.

Brawn had opted to stay with their ship, since he was 'tired of this running around slag'. Hot-shot had been on his own, and so gravitated towards his team leader.

Rodimus had just been glad to get away from Sentinel. The bot drove him nuts. All he ever did was whine and shout orders.

"This way… I can hear him." He whispered to his subordinate, the two of them creeping around the warehouse where they were sure Wasp was hiding.

Rodimus used hand signals to direct him to go around to the other side of the building so they could box the mech in.

Hot-shot nodded, creeping around until he had a sightline from one window straight through to one on the other side where his Prime was waiting.

Hot-shot looked around the inside of the warehouse through his window, spotting first the giant hole in the roof, and then their quarry… hunched over and clutching at his chestplates?

/Rodimus, does he look kinda… in pain, to you? I think something's wrong with him/.

/Optimus just comm'd me to say they found energon, they think he's injured. I can't see any leaks, but we need to bring him in quick so the doc can treat him. Should make him easier to catch at least/. The flame painted mech replied, drawing on his energy bow and giving a count-down through the comm line.

He wasn't planning to actually hit the bot with it, but it always worked well as a tool of persuasion.

The two Autobots burst in through their respective doors, shocking Wasp enough that he made a strangled cry of surprise and staggered back until he was pressed against a wall.

The bot's optics were nearly white. Rodimus almost felt sorry for him, it was a look he'd only seen on the faces of truly terrified mechs. Those who thought they were going to die.

"Eeeeasy does it Wasp. We just wanna help you, OK? You gotta come with us, we'll fix you up, you're not going back to the stockades, alright?"

While Rodimus spoke, holding most of the green mech's attention, Hot-shot slipped a pair of cuffs out of subspace, keeping them hidden behind his back.

But Wasp didn't seem fooled.

"You're lying. Sentinel does what he wants, I'll be thrown in a cell, I didn't even do anything, I'm not WASP." He nearly keened the words out, voice thready with panic and pain.

Hot-shot shared a look with his superior. /Should I use the flame-shroud trick? It'll only singe his paint a bit, not going to hurt him. Easiest way to take him down/.

/Only if he gets violent/ Rodimus responded, keeping his bow pointed down as he walked slowly and carefully closer to the bot. "Look, I know Sentinel is kind of a Donkus. Everyone knows that. But if I'm the one promising that you won't get locked up, will you come with us quietly?"

The look on Wasps' face answered him. As did the stinger that transformed out to point at him. "YOU'RE no better! Right now I wouldn't even go quietly with Optimus, why the SLAG would I trust YOU?"

Bumblebee was furiously fighting down the pain burning in his spark even as he looked for a way out and tried to keep his optics on both of them.

/That violent enough for you boss?/ Hot-shot comm'd, itching to get this over with. He hated stand-offs.

/Alright. Let me put my bow away, it should disarm him enough to give you an opening/. Rodimus made a show of disengaging the energy-beams and distending his bow, slowly backing up as he put it away. "OK, ok. Look, what's it going to take to convince you? We're not trying to hurt you, we know you're innocent, and we know you're injured-"

"What?" Bumblebee had been watching them for any sign of deceit. It's what he'd do in their situation. But the statement caught him off guard.

"Yeah, the doc-bot found your energon in the alley you got blown out of. We don't know how you're hurt, but we wanna help-"

Bumblebee just shook his head, the stinger he had pointed at Rodimus shaking harder. "You can't help me… NOTHING is going to fix what he did, nothing is going to fix what any of them di- GAAAH!"

Hot-shot had taken the distraction, transforming forward his flame-throwers and jetting the plumes of flame in a wide circle, surging forward through the heat and light to try and slap the cuffs on the stunned bot.

Except the bot wasn't stunned exactly.

Bumblebee had lashed out immediately. The fire and heat sent his panic levels through the roof, memories of Cyclonus and his thrusters clawing at his mind as he swung in blind fear.

His fist connected with the autobot's head rather solidly, Hot-shot going down with a thunk and a loud "OWFRAGITSONOVA-"

Bumblebee didn't hesitate, running out the door as Rodimus made the choice to help Hot-shot to his pedes rather than immediately give chase.

It was the head-start Bumblebee needed.

The shock and stress of the situation seemed to have postponed his spark-purge, at least for now, and he took the respite gladly, gritting his denta through another transformation and fishtailing out onto the road.

It wasn't long before he had company.

Two red and yellow sports cars of the same make and model flanked him.

It had begun to rain again, and he was willing to bet Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had never driven in the wet on tarmac before.

He could feel his energy dwindling, but fear was a potent fuel, more for his processor than his body. But his processor was what was forcing his body to obey, and when he wanted something this badly, he wasn't going to just lay down and take it.

Not when his memories reminded him every chance they got what would happen to him if he gave up.

Bumblebee gunned his engine, the twins realising they'd been spotted (not that they expected not to be, they weren't exactly subtle) and following with sirens blaring.

There wasn't much human traffic about on this side of town, but they were going at speeds that meant the noise was all the warning humans would get to move the frag out of the way.

Even without his booster rockets, and despite his flagging spark he forced to work harder, Bumblebee still gave the two front-liners a run for their credits.

They were built for speed alright… in a straight line.

He had rally car pedigree, and he knew the streets of this city like the back of his servo.

Bumblebee's world narrowed down to the singular need to succeed… to beat them, to get away.

And the two elite guard warriors quickly became frustrated that no matter how hard they gunned their engines, threw themselves into their drifts, or tried to out-manoeuvre the sub-compact… they just could not CATCH him.

Bumblebee turned late and accelerated quickly. He apexed corners to within a hairs breadth of brick and concrete walls. Red lights meant nothing to him right now. Indicators were left by the wayside, because giving away which way he was going would just be stupid.

He led them into the narrowest section of town he knew, testing their ability to do tight turns and blind corners. More than once, either twin would throw sparks when they scraped a wall. But Bumblebee ghosted down the tightest laneways without braking, without touching so much as a curb.

The scout knew he couldn't keep this up though. His spark burnt so hard he thought he would pass out. He needed an escape. He needed to hide.

Taking a hard left down a one way alley barely big enough for his pursuers to follow him down, he made his way down the maze of service ways and transformed.

That alone nearly took the wind right out of him, leaving him gasping, head spinning.

He grasped for a fire-escape and shakily pulled himself up it, clambering up to the roof and lying flat and still.

The roof was corrugated iron. The sound of the rain pattering off it was no different to the sound of it on his armour, masking him.

He heard the twins catch up down in the alley and transform.

"Are you slagging KIDDING me!? Where did he GO? This is a dead end. There's no way he climbed out, these human structures are too flimsy to withstand his weight."

Sideswipe they're Fire-escapes, if they couldn't support me they wouldn't be any good to a bunch of humans scrambling down them in a FIRE, would they. The scout said nothing even as he thought this, glad right now that the two weren't particularly familiar with Human structures.

Bumblebee didn't dare peek over the edge of the building. As much because he was dizzy as to keep himself hidden.

The twins below bickered a little more about not being able to catch him before he heard them radio in where they'd lost him and walk off.

He stayed where he was, letting the rain cool him and praying the jet twins didn't fly over. He needed to rest… he wasn't going to be able to keep this up much longer, not if he had to endure another chase like that.

Half an hour went by in which he caught his vents and calmed his engine. It was as he felt his spark gearing up to begin purging again that he moved and noticed he wasn't alone anymore.

Bumblebee had moved onto all fours, a servo clutching at his chestplates, when he'd felt someone looking at him.

Gazing around through the rain, which was petering out again, he'd spotted the flash of white a few blocks over.

Jazz.

Bumblebee ruthlessly tamped down on the pain in his chest and staggered up, running across the rooftop and leaping between the buildings.

Pretty soon, he spotted the one mech he really, REALLY hadn't wanted to run into.

Prowl.

He was doomed.

There was no way he could out-manoeuvre Prowl. Outrun when he was in peak condition, yes, but now? He might as well turn himself over.

Except that he couldn't do it… wouldn't do it, not when he knew what Sentinel was like, when he knew he'd be thrown in a cell for a long time before anyone with enough influence who even cared would move him to a medical facility.

And he felt he would be driven mad or dead by then.

I won't be a captive again, I CAN'T do that again, I can't…

Bumblebee ran, leaping between buildings as Prowl tried to pursue on foot and in vehicle mode below.

As soon as the black and gold mech tried to cut him off by getting up on the roof-tops, Bumblebee went down again, running through the narrow streets. He could hear Prowl pursuing. He'd lost track of Jazz- oh slag, no he hadn't.

The other ninja-bot appeared at the other end of the alley he was running down.

Rather than hesitate, fuelled by desperation, Bumblebee kept on steaming forwards.

Jazz was taken off-guard, and fell into a defensive stance, expecting attack.

The scout dodged to the side before he reached Jazz, leaping on a skip, vaulting off it and hitting the wall of the other building, kicking out against it and getting enough height to jump clear over the ninja-bot.

Jazz gaped. He hadn't expected that. Nowhere had he read in Wasps file that he was capable of this kind of thing. Despite Sentinel and himself seeing how good the bot was at running, it still baffled him how he could do such gymnastics when he'd been cooped in a facility for so long.

Prowl made an irritated noise at him for standing there and gaping as he dropped down from the building above. "Come on, we can't let him escape!"

Bumblebee had already transformed and sped away. He lost himself in the maze of city streets again, changing back to root mode when he thought he'd put enough distance between him and the two cyber-ninjas.

He staggered against a wall, clutching at it and trying to stifle himself as fire tore through his spark.

The scout put his back to the wall, sliding to the ground as he clamped a servo over his mouth to stifle the cries of agony he made.

His spark burned white hot, and he clutched at his chest until the feeling began to abate again. He didn't have the processor space to think about what this was going to do to him, or how it worked.

How could he deal with an on-again off-again spark purge when he was being pursued by the very mechs who said they'd protect him? When they wanted to lock him away?

The same litany of internal protest met the thought of that, driving him to push to his pedes once more. His vents heaved in air, the rain doing little now to help cool him. He stumbled down the alley, unable to think clearly as pain lanced through his spark and frame.

Some part of Bumblebee knew that his processor wasn't working properly… that he was stuck in a kind of fear loop, clouding his rational thoughts and ability to analyse and strategize. All he had right now was instinct and reactions, and he didn't have enough energy to spare on CARING about the fact he wasn't functioning right.

He was terrified, he was in pain, he just wanted all of this nightmare to stop-

Bumblebee was knocked to the side, something big and heavy slamming him into a hot-dog bot on a street corner.

Condiments splattered over his plating, and he slipped on them as he struggled to get to his pedes, stingers coming out and whirling around to point at-

"Bulkhead!"

"You always thought I was dumb Wasp." The hulking green mech pulled back his wrecking ball, hauling it up and beginning to spin it again for another throw.

Bumblebee felt a shiver of icy fear run down his spinal strut. He couldn't shoot Bulkhead, but he couldn't take more hits like that. He could try to run, surely he could try to-

Looking around, he found Jazz and Prowl had closed in again, blocking his only other exit route.

He turned back to Bulkhead, optics nearly white.

"Well let's see how dumb you think I am now…"

"Bulkhead, don't. We know he's already injured, Ratchet will blow a fuse if you go wreckin' him up worse." Jazz tried to talk down the angry green mech.

Bulkhead's optics narrowed at Bumblebee. "He deserves it. After how he treated us in Bootcamp, and now he wants to turn up and terrorize Bee, he's been through ENOUGH without you showing up! If you hadn't been so mean to us in bootcamp he never woulda suspected you, never-"

"Bulkhead stop, please, just stop… I don't wanna hurt you…" Bumblebee choked out the words, panic rising as his spark guttered with pain and the bots around him closed in.

No, not like this, you have to believe me

Bulkhead scowled and swung his wrecking ball. Bumblebee reacted, dropping and rolling, ducking the swing of the ball and shooting a bolt under Bulkhead's outstretched arm.

The larger mech howled and drew back, clutching his side.

Bumblebee stared between Bulkhead and his stingers, horrified. He didn't realise they were that powerful. He swayed where he stood. They were a real drain on his energy right now too.

The scout heard and felt movement from behind and turned in time to block a blow aimed for his shoulder from Prowl.

He changed his stingers for servos, using Prowl's surprise at his block to throw a punch.

Prowl dodged easily, and they broke apart, both taking up stances. The master didn't seem to know he was facing his student.

Optics fixed on the black and gold mech saw every little twitch, and the moment Prowl tried to execute the offlining move again, Bee dodged, blocking and swinging and staggering back away again.

This time Prowl followed, but Bee continued to fight him off.

Prowl glared at him again, and Bumblebee didn't know if the pain in his spark was from it trying to continue its purge, or that it was simply breaking.

"Don't you even know me?" he blurted out, a sudden surge of anger driving him to attack forward, Prowl leaping back in surprise.

"What I know is that you were Bumblebee's brother, and instead of telling him when you met again, you expected him to know you. And I know that you blame him for everything that's happened to you since, when you could have changed it yourself."

It was Bee's turn to block, but he lacked experience, and energy.

He staggered, and one of Prowl's kicks knocked him into a van, totalling it as he crumpled the side.

Bumblebee transformed a stinger out again, pointing it at the ninja-bot, right as Prowl was poised to make the final blow and knock him out.

"Give up Wasp, you have nowhere left to go, even if you shock me."

The scout didn't want to do it, but he was at the end of his options now. He stared at Prowl with wide, wild optics.

There had to be another way though, Prowl had to know, how could he prove who he was?

What could he say that he would know and Wasp wouldn't?

"I begged him to kill me…"

Prowl went rigid, not sure he was hearing what he thought he was, the words so quiet and pained.

He stared down at the green mech hard, seemingly ignoring the stinger still pointing at his chest.

"What did you say?..."

"I begged Ratchet to kill me… when you brought me back, and that virus was in my spark and I begged him… you were there. You were the only other bot there… you have to believe me Prowl, I can't… I can't keep running…"

The words were practically sobbed. His whole frame quivered with exhaustion and emotion, fear now the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

The air around them was tense, and he was suddenly very aware that Jazz and Bulkhead were still there.

Prowl's servo lowered.

"You can't trust him Prowl! That didn't… he'd never… Bee would never ask Ratchet to do that… would he?" Bulkhead's voice wavered.

Bumblebee turned his optics to him. If he had to convince every single one of them, he would.

"Bootcamp… in bootcamp, you knocked that wall down on top of Sentinel… and then I took the rap for you."

The green mech's optics grew wide and horrified. "…B-Bumblebee?... I… Oh Primus… oh Primus, Bee, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

Bulkhead staggered forward and the scout tensed, not sure what was going to happen to him…

The next thing he knew, he was being lifted and engulfed in his friend's arms.

His whole frame shook like mad, and he went limp, letting out a soft keen as tension drained from his overclocked systems.

"Bee I'm sorry I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I thought you were Wasp, I thought he hurt you, I wanted to get him back and I… I… we need to find Ratchet, he said there was energon, where were you hurt?"

Bumblebee just rested his helm against the expansive green chassis and shook it slightly from side to side, stingers swapping back to servos and hanging at his sides.

"Just… just don't make me run anymore… I'm so tired…"

"I don't know how he was even running in the first place." Jazz murmured to Prowl, staring at the small mech hanging in Bulkhead's grip.

Prowl didn't respond. He was stony faced, but internally he was horrified at himself. How could I have missed all the signs? How could I have made such a huge mistake?

How did we all miss it?

Prowl didn't even know how to begin to apologize. While he stood looking slightly lost, Jazz at least still had the cogs to figure out their next course of action.

"We should radio Optimus and Ratchet, get them over here. The Doc can make sure we haven't done him any lasting da-"

The white and black mech was cut off by the increasingly loud roar of jet engines, approaching fast and flying low.

Bumblebee shuddered in Bulkhead's arms, the large green mech looking down at him and back up at the jets. "Maybe we should tell them first… they don't know it's Bee."

The twins landed and gave them a quizzical look, standing back further than they normally would from the other Autobots. Something was not normal about the situation they had landed in.

"Jazz sir, you are catching Wasp?"

"Why is he not being in cuffs sir?"

"Cool your jets guys, Prowl and Bulkhead here say he's not really Wasp. Ah can't vouch, but ah trust 'em." Jazz raised his servos placatingly to try and diffuse the situation before it turned into anything.

The twins looked at one another with slightly apprehensive expressions before turning back to their other superior.

"Sir… Sentinel Prime is telling us we are to be taking fugitive Wasp into custody as soon as he is being caught sir." Jetfire said slowly.

Jetstorm nodded. "Sentinel Prime is also telling us that we are to only follow that order and no-one else's sir."

Jazz scowled. "Aw pit, that idiot did it again."

The twins spoke in a sort of tag team, their tone grave.

"We are sorry sir,"

"But we are having to take him,"

"By forcing if necessary,"

"Please to be handing him over."

Bulkhead turned his back to them slightly, shielding Bumblebee.

"Uh-uh, no way, not letting you have him."

"Please to not be making us fight you." Jetstorm frowned, clearly unhappy with the fact he had to follow Sentinel's orders. But honestly, they couldn't say they trusted Bulkhead or Prowl any more than Sentinel did.

"We KNOW he's not Wasp. You can't take Bumblebee into custody, he did nothing wrong, he's already gone through enough from this mix up." Prowl said heatedly, stepping forward to defend the scout.

"Can you be proving to us that it is Bumblebee?" Jetfire asked tentatively.

Prowl and Bulkhead looked at one another briefly before looking at Bumblebee, who was very still, and very quiet, optics over-bright.

The things the scout had told them would mean nothing to the twins, and he hadn't really had enough interaction with them to share any information that only he and they would know.

After a tense pause, Jetfire and Jetstorm stepped closer, the former producing cuffs from subspace.

Bumblebee shook his helm. "No, I can't, please-"

Prowl revved, stepping fully between the twins and Bumblebee now, producing his shuriken. "We cannot let you take him."

"Sorry, but by Sentinel Prime's orders, we are needing to hold him in the brig." Jetfire looked regretful but determined nonetheless.

Jazz tried once more to step in and diffuse the situation, but Jetstorm was already cranking up his turbine, and when Prowl leapt forward to get him away from Bulkhead and Bumblebee, the jet leapt into the air and unleashed a gale.

Jetfire tried to get around Bulkhead to snatch the scout from his arms, but a large green arm was thrown out, and he had to jet upwards with his brother to avoid it slamming into him.

Once the two were in the air, there wasn't much Jazz could do. He might outrank them, but Sentinel's orders over-rode his own and he couldn't fault them for following the chain of command.

He also didn't want to have to fight them, it was bad for team cohesion to do so outside of training exercises.

He really had to have a talk with Sentinel about these inflexible orders, the twins were too new to this to know how to bend his rules.

Dodging two shuriken thrown his way, Jetfire threw a fireball at Bulkhead, knocking the large mech back onto a parked bus.

Bulkhead lost his grip on Bumblebee, who was thrown to the ground. The scout was slow to work up enough energy to drag himself up. He couldn't run, his spark was purging again and the most he could do was try to stagger away.

He looked over his shoulder, terrified, as Jetstorm span up a wind funnel and chased him down, stopping Jazz from moving forward to help him up. The force was once again enough to lift him into the air, spinning the scout around and disorientating him.

"Wait! Stop, I'm not… who you think I am!" he gasped.

The wind was sucked out of Bumblebee's vents and his tank churned sickeningly. That sickening feeling intensified as the funnel collapsed and he fell.

Slamming into the ground was enough to stun the yellow bot, not realising until it was too late that the orange and tan flier was upon him.

Before Jetfire could cuff the scout, Prowl came flying out of the darkness, slamming bodily into him.

It gave Bumblebee enough time to get his bearings and drag himself onto his pedes. He wasn't fast enough to escape though, Jetstorm coming down to block his path.

Bulkhead roared and charged for the blue jet, Jetstorm trying to force the green mech back with a rush of wind.

The larger bot was too heavy for it to have much effect, and he swung his wrecking ball low, getting it under the jet's legs and yanking back to trip him.

Bumblebee tried to run, legs feeling heavier with every step and spark burning and sputtering wildly in his chestplates. A wall of fire sprung up in front of him and he scrambled to a halt, turning to run only to find that the fire encircled him.

Panic suffused every circuit once more, and with a desperate cry he lunged through the flames, rolling and stumbling to his pedes, feeling his paint bubbling on his shins.

The desperate need to escape filled his processor once more, blocking all rational thought, but his body could no longer give what he demanded of it.

Vents heaving, his knees gave out, and he was left curled over, clutching at his chest. Somewhere behind him he heard his name, but he didn't know who was calling it.

A pair of pedes appeared in front of him. And before his dazed processor could register who they belonged to, servos tugged at his wrists and a set of cuffs snapped over his forearms.

The panic rose again, whiting out his audio feed, any scrap of rational thought leaving him. He reared back with a desperate cry, scrabbling wildly at the ground to pull away. His spark flared with fear, pushing his frame to regain strength in fits and starts, losing it again in waves.

The suddenness of his motion off-balanced Jetfire and he fell almost on top of the scout, not managing to turn the cuffs on.

"Get off-a him!" Bulkhead bellowed, running towards them but finding his way blocked by plumes of fire, the orange and tan jet hovering to defend his brother as he struggled with the captive.

While Bulkhead attempted to swat the jet out of the air with his wrecking ball, Prowl slunk around their battle to try and reach Bumblebee.

The scout was on his back on the ground, making raw sounds of desperation as he kicked out at Jetstorm while he bore down, trying to restrain him.

The blue jet reared back with a cry of pain as shuriken smacked his servos away and the ninja-bot surged forward, scooping Bumblebee up and getting some distance between them.

Jetstorm looked exasperated. "We are needing to take him into custody, we are only following of the orders. Why cannot you be co-operating? Wasp is not to be staying in brig forever!"

Prowl glared at him, supporting a quivering Bumblebee under the arms. The scout's legs were barely able to support his weight, processor too deeply entrenched in triggered fears from being cuffed to be fully aware of what was happening around him. A constant undercurrent of pain only fuelling his panic.

"THINK about it! Those Decepticons had him locked in their brig. Even if this were Wasp, HE'S been locked in the stockades. NEITHER of them are going to be helped psychologically by being locked up in brigs!" Prowl snarled.

"But you are not being able to prove to us he is being Bumblebee and not Wasp, and we are having orders from Sentinel to take him to ship. We cannot be trusting that you are sure this is not Wasp." Jetstorm huffed.

The conversation was cut short by the arrival of others, Optimus and Ratchet rolling up to Jazz, who had stayed mostly out of the fight because he had no desire to hurt his own troops or his comrades. He also couldn't know, as much as he trusted Prowl, that what the sub-compact had said was true.

Somebot there had to be neutral, and at the moment it was him, as much as he hated it.

"Everyone needs to STOP and CALM DOWN. No one is taking Wasp anywhere." Optimus stated authoritatively. They all stood as if paused where they were while Jazz filled Optimus and Ratchet in on what was happening.

"… So I can't say for sure if it is Bumblebee, and we can't prove it to the Twins, and they gotta follow Sentinel's orders before mine cause he outranks me. Now ya see why the fight broke out."

Optimus gave a heavy, exasperated sigh. "Thankfully, I'm still on the same rank as him, so I'm telling your troops now, NO ONE is taking this bot to the brig. ANY brig, until we can sort this out."

Sentinel had managed to catch up during this explanation and transformed mid-aqua plane, making a loud objection to the other Prime's statement.

"Who put YOU in charge here? I told MY bots to take him onto MY ship so he could be dealt with on Cybertron. Ultra Magnus can sort it out, innocent, guilty, doesn't matter, he's coming with ME!"

"Whoa, down some coolant S.P. We don't wanna be doing anything too rash." Jazz laid a servo on his superior's shoulder to transfer some calming energy into his field. It was subtle, but it usually worked.

"What the slag is making this so difficult? I thought we established over comms that Wasp was trying to throw us off pretending he and Bumblebee had been body-swapped? You can't tell me you actually BELIEVE him now?" Sentinel groused angrily.

"But it IS Bumblebee, he told me about the time I pushed a wall on you in bootcamp and how he took the blame and you know about that sir! Look, I'm admitting it, it was me, Bee took the rap, if he hadn't of done that you woulda sent him to the academy! There's no WAY Wasp knows any of this!" Bulkhead flailed his arms as he spoke, desperate to get Sentinel to believe them.

The blue and orange Prime just blinked at the large green bot. "I haven't got the faintest slagging idea WHAT you're talking about."

"That isn't the only thing that confirmed it was Bumblebee." Prowl piped up from where he was now propping up a worryingly weakened and shaking scout. "I can't repeat what he told me… and even if I did, only one other bot here could confirm the truth of it, but TRUST me… this IS Bumblebee. Wasp couldn't possibly know what he told me."

"So what is your entirely insubordinate team suggesting we do Optimus? Let Wasp run free just in case there's a chance it's Bumblebee?" Sentinel huffed, turning to the red and blue Prime with his servos on his hips.

"You know I COULD just scan him and TELL you if it's Bumblebee or not?" Ratchet rumbled impatiently, eyeing the bot in Prowl's hold a little anxiously. Whether it was Bee or Wasp, they looked very unwell right now.

"And I'm supposed to trust your assessment why? They're practically identical as it is, I doubt scanning their systems will do much." Sentinel griped.

Ratchet bristled. "You idiot, have you not been paying attention at ALL for the last month? You think Bumblebee's repairs are complete enough for me not to tell the difference between him and another bot of the same model?"

Sentinel swelled with anger right back at Ratchet. "I'm AWARE their systems would be different! What I'm saying is I can't be sure I can TRUST you. Who's to say you and your whole team aren't trying to save Wasp from being taken away, hmm? For all I know you're trying to keep him around so you can attempt some kind of rehab yourselves. He needs to come with ME if we're ever going to sort out this spy MESS."

Optimus rubbed at his temples, patience running thin. "OK Sentinel, I don't have time to point out how wildly uncalled for your speculation at our intentions is, but how about we compromise. We can take this bot back to the plant and test the two of them somehow to find out who is who. You can even do the questioning yourself if that will satisfy your lack of faith in anyone else's judgement."

Sentinel glared at Optimus for a solid few astroseconds before nodding. "Fine. I guess I can live with that. But whoever I decide is Wasp is coming with me, no arguments, you got that?"

"So long as you treat Wasp well, then yes, I agree. Remember, he's NOT a traitor. The ONLY reason you need to secure him is because of his degraded mental state, you don't need a brig cell for that. Confining him to locked quarters would do just as well." The red and blue bot reminded him, but Sentinel waved a servo at him.

"Don't push your luck Optimus, I don't need you telling me how to do my job. My bots will get him back to your base faster and hold him there securely until we arrive." It wasn't so much of a suggestion as a statement.

Obediently, Jetfire and Jetstorm shuffled over near Prowl and looked at him expectantly.

Prowl spared them a look, far more involved in trying to figure out what Bumblebee was trying to say in response to the events going on around him.

"Prowl don't let them take me back… don't let them take me near him again he's not the same… I can't go near him, I can't see him again, please don't let them take me…"